Black Legacies
by Shade Strife
Summary: Despite the apparent death of the god of destruction, the cycle of the Moon Child continues. With Rose dead, another must take up her role. But alone with no one to trust, can Dart become the monster that he despised? Updated 250106
1. Prologue

I do not own Legend of Dragoon, or the characters associated with the game. The plot and original characters are of my own devising however, so I would appreciate anyone asking permission before using elemets of either. Or just leave them alone altogether. Whichever suits.

I've done an overhaul on the first chapter (after putting it off for a year or more now), so there should be a definate improvement in the quality of the writing. To any of you unfortunate to have started reading it with one of the older versions, please accept my profound apologies. It sucketh. :P This said, I will be putting in an overhaul on the next few chapters as well, as promised. Until then, please be patient.

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Dart's: POV

Stars splayed themselves across the velvet night sky overhead, here and there obscured by drifting wisps of feathery cloud. With the sharp cold of the winter night they seemed to be unnaturally bright, increased tenfold by the crisp air. 

Somewhere in the woods off to my right a owl cried out softly, the sound echoing through the clearing. Lying on my back by the smoldering remains of the night's fire, I shifted the sliver of wood I'd been chewing around in my teeth before spitting it out on the snow at my side. Resting my head back on my arms, my attention shifted from the stars to the Moon that Never Sets. 

The name suit it better than we could ever have imagined. Several months after, following in the wake of our battle with Melbu Frahma the Moon had abruptly reformed in the sky without warning. When Albert and I had flown out to the Death Frontier to investigate we had found that the shattered Divine tree had disappeared without a trace; swallowed up by the earth itself. So total was it that were it not for the memories of that last struggle burned into the depths of my mind, I may have almost been able to have brought myself to believe that it had all been a very bad dream.

The key word there is almost.

I've since had a theory provided for the phenomenon, though I'm not sure how correct it is. Since we were able to destroy Melbu Frahma, we had automatically assumed that the Virage Embryo was destroyed along with him. Unfortunately, it wasn't until afterwards that I was able to learn that since Frahma was not the intended vessel for the Virage Embryo, the fusion with the body of the Virage, the Moon itself, was incomplete. So while the moon was destroyed, the spirit remained free to wander. As for the Moon itself…try to think of it as a lizard with it's tail cut off. It looses its tail, but since it's not really all that essential, the lizard survives and continues to live. Eventually, though, the tail will grow back. 

A cold breeze gusted through the close-knit trees, the sudden stir reviving the failing embers of the fire. Sitting up, I pulled my heavy overcoat closer around me and mover nearer to the flames, tossing a broken pine branch on to it as I did so. The cold doesn't bother me as much as it used to, but one can only adjust to temperature so far. Still, it kind of gets forced on you when you've been living in the mountainous regions behind Deningrad for three or four months at a time, though it wasn't as though I had much of a choice. Bounty hunters are tenacious buggers, and they're hard to loose once they've picked up on your trail. Still, I'd probably have to move on to the Evergreen Forest soon, but it was a little early yet.

With my mind still twisting around the topic of the Moon, my thoughts turned to the brief prelude to the battle, while we had gathered our wits before hurling ourselves into conflict. Bending over Shana's broken body, I hadn't paid much attention to Rose as she cradled my father's head in her arms. After 11 000 years of aimless wandering, she had finally found a contact to her old life, and the pain and longing was evident on her face as she gazed down at him. Looking back on it now, I can understand, at least in the smallest of ways how she felt. Eleven centuries is a long, long time to spend alone; she was tired. 

When she had approached me at last, I didn't notice her standing behind me until she pressed something small and hard into my hand, closing my fingers tightly over it before turning away without another word. When I opened my hand to see what it was I was startled to find a woman's choker, neither the dark fabric nor the polished lump of obsidian tarnished with the passage of years. Frozen in its own personal time, Rose's choker would do the same for whomever wore it. I'm not sure what she had intended for me to do with it. She had looked so sad and angry with herself that I didn't question her. When Rose was in that sort of mood, you did whatever she told you to do. It wasn't until much later that I would realize the full importance of what she had done, even if that had not been her intent. 

Upon returning to Seles, I had tucked it away. I've always been something of a sucker for momentos and the like, and I couldn't bring myself to destroy it. It had lain on a shelf for eight years or more gathering dust before I, or anyone, would bother touching it again.

_-Seles, twenty-one years ago-_

_The rain poured out of the sky, soaking the earth and turning the hard packed streets of Seles to a muddy, slippery mess. Dart didn't care. It matched his mood perfectly. Ignoring the downpour he continued until he came to a track of earth just inside the limits of the village. Passing the graves of the victims of the Sandorian raid, Dart walked to the end of the row. A few weeks ago he would have paused to pay his respects. Now there was only one grave that mattered to him. It stood in the back under an old tree; made of white marble, it was decorated with the image of a young girl stroking the face of an enormous dragon. The plague was engraved with various messages, but one had only need to read one to understand well enough who lie there._

** Seasons come and go**

with the passing of years,

but memory travels on in 

the hearts and lives of those

whom you touched.

Shana Feld 

Rest in peace

It had been three weeks since the funeral. Four days before that Shana had been struck suddenly by a sickness that none of the doctors could identify. They had sent word to Miranda to bring her dragon spirit, but it had been too late. Shana had died two days later in her sleep, a brief interlude between the raging fevers and heaving coughs that had racked her body. 

__

--

I shook my head, letting out a sigh that drifted on the frigid air like smoke. For years after I had thought there was something that I could have done. That the whole thing could have been prevented. Maybe it could have been; I don't know. I still carry her loss with me, eating at me from the inside, but eventually you have to put the past behind you before it interferes too much with the present. 

And over the past twenty years, I've needed my wits about me more strongly than I ever had in my entire life.

__

-Seles, twenty years ago-

__

Dart sat on the small terrace out back of his home, staring off into the darkness without really seeing. Absently he rolled a large, polished stone back and forth over his fingers and palm, the motions coming more from idle habit than any conscious intention . It caught in the light of the moon, veins of silver and blue flashing across the crystalline angles of its interior . The spirit of the Divine Dragon, pulled from the eye of the selfsame creature as it had breathed its last breath. While it had been agreed that the rest of the dragoons should give up their spirits to Albert so that they could be kept under guard in the depths of Indels Castle, Dart had held onto his own. Deriving it's power from the lord of all dragons, the power it offered up to its bearer by far eclipsed the strength of any of the other spirits. Not something that one wanted let out of his sight; certainly not to fall into the wrong hands. 

His fingers slipped across the smooth surface and the stone rolled from his grip, bouncing once on the planks of the terrace before rolling to a stop. Hearing it fall, Dart dropped his gaze to the orb, though he made no move to retrieve it. It was beautiful and yet at the same time horrible; the material form of the spirit of a long-dead dragon that desired nothing more than destruction. Circumstance had forced him only ever to use the spirit, to fight under its influence once, but the memory was branded into his mind as surely as the tentative link that had been forged with them gem in that instant. Dragoon spirits were used as a tool to amplify the insanity that brings on the conflict of war; this spirit blew it all out of proportion. Emotion; black, seething hatred had flowed through his brain as blood flowed through his veins. The need to slake it had been like a drill boring into his spine; had not Melbu Frahma been of a more immediate concern he would have reversed the change right away. But he had rode the impulses, mastered them in the loosest sense of the word. The power it provided had been their saving grace; for that one reason he held his hand when he would have otherwise hurled it away into the ruins of the divine tree.

The thought of destroying the thing had occurred to him more than once since then. It was an abomination; a blight to the world. If it fell into the wrong hands it would take a miracle to bring the thing down, combined with the blood of countless men. And yet each time the thought occurred to him…

He leaned back against the side of the house, feeling the rough grain of the wood through his shirt. He hadn't destroyed it. Something, somewhere inside him, wanted to hold onto that power. That thought, more than anything else, made him want to cast the thing away. And yet…why? He closed his eyes, rubbing his temple with his fingers. 

//Because you know that it can't be destroyed//

The voice, if it could be called that, came from nowhere and everywhere at once, so quiet that the words seemed to slur together so that they were all but indistinguishable. Like breath of wind it came and went, leaving a faint buzz in his mind like an unwelcome aftertaste. 

Sitting up slowly he peered off into the darkness, squinting slightly as he strained to see past the soft glow of the lamp. At the same time his other hand went to the planks, groping about for something to swing, or in the very least throw.

//Oh quit it. It's not like I'm in any position to harm you// Again came the voice; stronger now, the words more easily distinguishable. 

"What in the name of..." He started again, then cut off as he strained for the words. 

As it turned out there was no need. When the voice came again, soft and at the same time as powerful as a roll of thunder it was as clear as if someone were speaking in his ear. //Calm down for a moment. This isn't easy//

"What the… where are you?"

//For someone who's usually so prudent, you're starting to run off course. I think the question you should be asking is 'who'.//

"Alright then, who?" His hand found the rock that was used as a doorjamb; its weight in his palm was comforting, reassuring. 

//You'd know me, if you were to use what little brains you have and think about it.//

"Riddles? Say what you mean." He got up from his chair slowly, hefting the stone.

//I thought I told you to stop that. If it makes you feel any better, the rock won't do any good. Can you really hear me? I'm not out 'there', Dart. I'm right here//

"So now I'm hearing voices, huh?" His voice came out a trifle unsteadily.

//Think about it Dart. You've felt me before. What else do you know that can get inside you; link with you body and mind?//

Slowly, incredulously, Dart's eyes dropped to the spirit lying in a rut between two hewn rough planks.

//Now you're on the right track// The voice said approvingly.

"No…way. Impossible." Irrationally, Dart took a step away from the thing. "You're dead. I was there; I saw you die."

//Very good. Now that we've established that, maybe you can relax a bit. You should know better than anyone else that there is very little that can be classified as 'impossible'//

Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Dart let the stone drop to the deck. It clunked hollowly on the boards as he took a step forward, then another. Bending over, he reached down and picked up the spirit as though it were a live adder. "All right. I'm listening. What do you want?"

The voice chuckled dryly. //Trust me, it's not a case of want, kid. The will of the creator weighs as heavily on me as it does on you. I never wanted to be linked to any human; if I'd had it my way, you might never have been born//

"Wonderful. What are you doing…" He struggled for a moment, then shook his head. "Why?" Dart asked, his voice sounding vaguely plaintive.

//It would seem that your task isn't done with you yet. My own is just starting. Let's just say for the moment that we have a very, very long way to go, and more to do than you could possibly believe //

"I'm getting too old for that sort of thing."

//Give it a while. You'll be laughing at yourself later. In the meantime though, there's something that I need you to do// 

"What?"

//Rose's choker. Find it and bring it out here.//

It seemed innocent enough. Dart obliged, retreating into the dark interiors of the house and retrieving the thing from where it lay. For a moment he considered staying inside, then shook his head. It wouldn't do him any good anyway. Coming back out onto the deck, he lay the thing on the bench next to him. "There. Now what?"

//Put it on.//

"Are you crazy?!"

//You're the one hearing voices, not me. Just do it//

"Don't you know what that thing does?"

//I know exactly what it does. That's why I'm telling you to put it on.//

Catching the irritation in the dragon's last statement, he grudgingly fastened the choker around his neck and turned the collar of his shirt up to cover it. "So why am I doing this exactly?"

//Give it a moment. We're not done yet. Now pick up the spirit and hold it to your chest//

More than slightly confused, Dart did as the dragon asked. "Now what?"

White pain filled his entire being; gasping he fell to the deck, he right leg twisting uncomfortably underneath him as he went down. It lasted only a few brief seconds, but once the pain had passed he was left sprawled on the rough planks, splinters cutting into his cheek from where he had jerked about his head as he thrashed. Breath coming haltingly, he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position with shaking arms. 

"Wha…what the hell was that?" Gradually the trembling subsided, although it did nothing to ease the growing fear that something was horribly wrong. Taking a few long, steadying breaths, it took him a moment to determine what exactly it was. Two fingers going to his jugular, he swallowed. No pulse. Yet as the seconds stretched into minutes, he felt no different. How was it possible? Was he dead, or…?

Something wet splashed onto the back of his hand, and he drew it back, surprised. Blood. Tentatively he put one hand to his slashed cheek and was rewarded with a sting that made him pull it away again almost as quickly. Blood was still flowing, and he wasn't dead. So what was it then? 

//I made a slight adjustment to your anatomy, that's all//

Slowly, incredulous realization dawned. "You switched my heart with that bloody stone?!"

//Dart, if you'd take time to think about it, you'd realize the point. The Dragoon Spirits were each once one of a dragon's many hearts. It also is the contact that allows you to use the powers of the dragons. Now that it's inside you, no one can take it from you. It's about as safe as it can get. Isn't that what you wanted?//

"Not like this."

//Stop moping//

"I'll mope if I want to." Dart was starting to calm down a bit. As he wiped away the blood from his cheek onto his sleeve, the dragon's earlier words came back to him. "You mentioned a task. Well?"

//It's a bit difficult to explain// he paused for a moment, presumably collecting his thoughts. //To put it briefly, when we fought Melbu Frahma, things were not entirely what they appeared//

"I can understand that much."

//I thought you could. Now. Frahma was never intended to carry the Moon Child's power; therefore when he tried to complete the fusion with the body of Virage, it failed. What you fought was merly a shadow of what should have been; a very potent shadow to be sure, but still a cry from the real thing//

"Jeez…"

//When you destroyed the body, the spirit was released once again to wander. Even now it moves about the world, seeking a new host body// 

"What do you-"Dart stopped, collecting his thoughts. "You mean that there still is a Moon Child out there?"

//Not yet, but there will be. And when it does come, someone will have to be there to stop it. And the next. And the next. Until some way can be found to halt the cycle permanently// When Dart didn't answer immediately, he went on in a somewhat deadpan voice. //If it's any consolation, Rose didn't like the idea much either. It took Charle Frahma days to convince her what had to be done. I know you like it even less//

"But I'll have to do it anyways, won't I?"

//Yes.//

"How long do we have?"

//It could be another 108 years from now. Or it could be tomorrow. The spirit is restless; the pattern may not mean a thing to it anymore//

Dart mulled this over for a moment, then slowly got to his feet. "Do you have a name, or anything like that?"

//Ragnarok will suffice//

--

That was almost twenty years ago. As Ragnarok had predicted, the Moon Child wasn't content to wait. I wish it had been later. Then Albert, Meru and the others wouldn't have had to put up with this mess I've caused. I found the Child about ten years ago, in a village just outside of Bale. And for the first time in years I used the dragoon stone. I didn't need its power, but, let's face the facts: the divine armor looks like a nightmare pulled straight from a troubled child's dreams. No one recognized me, but Albert realized who had done it. Rose's story had never been released to the public; neither had the information concerning my new dragoon spirit. So the villagers turned to the same tired story they always used to explain these things. 

It hadn't taken them long to find me; it wasn't exactly like I'd tried to hide. Carting me back to Bale, I'd been tried and convicted before anyone could get much of a word in. Albert's hand was involved somewhere though, because I was deemed 'insane' and tossed in a cell rather than the customary trip to the headsman's block. A strange sort of mercy, I suppose, but it did buy me the time that I needed, whether he had intended it or not. 

Ragnarok had been correct on one point, however. After searching me thoroughly and stripping me of what little belongings I carried, my hands were roped together and I was tossed into an old, stone-walled cell in the lower levels of Indels Castle. When night fell and the guards temporarily were absent from their posts as they waited for their relief, I activated the stone from where it lay entombed in my chest. Using the cannon to blast a hole into the wall, I slipped out while water from the river sloshed in. 

I'm not sure which surprised the relief more; the flood slowly claiming the lowest level of the castle or the fact that I had made good an escape. In any case, by the time any sort of pursuit was organized, I was already closing in on the Tiberoa-Serdian boarder.

Ten years of running and hiding is death on the nerves. Understandably, I've kept to the mountainous regions; the hills slow down bounty hunters and the sort, but they won't stop them forever. Sooner or later the past will catch up with me, and when it does… well, in a way it already has. Twenty-eight years ago my own quest for the Black Monster ended. And now, well…

Sometimes irony makes me sick.

I'll be working to get the next few chapters re-written over then next couple of weeks. Full priority is still going to the new chapters and the like, but I will post the revamps as they are finished. 

To any who are just starting out, and plan to keep on reading, I am so, sooooo very sorry for the poor quality of the next several chapters. Just bear with me for the moment. 


	2. Mercenaries

Once again, continuing on with the revamping of the first few chapters. Since Fan has made some changes to its formatting system since the first version of this chapter was originally posted, the format for the Dart/Ragnarok mindspeak has changed.

(Ragnarok's thoughts)

/Dart's thoughts/

Hope you enjoy it.

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**Dart's POV:**

(Dart?)

/Nghh…/

(Dart, time to get up)

/Shut up/ Mentally I curled in on myself, wrapping myself comfortably around a rather pleasant dream that involved large amounts of food and all night in which to eat it.

(Fine. But don't blame me if your throat gets cut)

_That _got my attention. I stirred, opening my eyes slowly. The night before, I had taken refuge from the weather in a small cave in the lower regions of the mountain range cutting through the forest some distance from Deningrad. The entrance was partially blocked by a fallen slab of rock, and once a small fire had been lit, the cave had made a passable place to spend the night. The fire had burned itself out at some point during the night, and chill had begun to settle into the stone walls once more. Daylight streamed through the entrance, providing just enough light to enable me to see the mess I had gotten myself into while I slept.

"Hold still there now, laddie buck. Don't be trying any sudden moves on us, do y'hear?" The speaker bit down on the end of a tarry looking cigarette, breathing a puff of smoke out of the corner of his mouth as his tanned and wrinkled brow lowered over sunken eyes. In his middle-years, with a beetling brows and a beard that fell part way down his chest, he looked the sort that might be marrying off his eldest daughter, or perhaps bouncing grandchildren on his knee. Except that he was holding a long, bright lance instead of grandchildren, and that long, sharp point was tickling my adam's apple. Letting my breath out in a long sigh, I lay my head back and shut my eyes. I knew the point of that lance; it'd been pointed at my chest, or at least in my direction, more than once over the past few years.

"Hello Torric. Aren't we both getting a bit old for this sort of thing?"

"You know how it is." The voice was careless, but I caught a hint of steel embedded in it. "They've upped your bounty again, you know."

/Great. That's the _last_ thing we need/ "Really?" I opened one eye. "I hadn't heard. What're they offering now?"

"Enough that I was able to convince a couple of other fellows that it might be worthwhile if the lot of us tracked you down and split the reward."

"What, generosity? From you?" I raised one eyebrow. "Your advancing years have changed you, old man."

A ghost of a smile hovered about his features, but I didn't miss the brief flick downward of his eyes. While his right arm held the lance steady, his left hung limply at his side, useless. A clean thrust through the shoulder in the Barrens two years ago had long since deprived him of its use. "Nice try boy, but I'm not fool enough to chase you alone anymore."

(Perhaps wisdom does come with age) Ragnarok murmured.

/Perhaps/ I replied, somewhat doubtfully, then let out a long sigh for Torric's benefit. "I suppose this is the part where I'm supposed to get quietly to my feet so that you can bind my hands and herd me back down the mountain at spear point?"

"You're getting used to this." He slid the cigarette across to the opposite side of his mouth and spat, the mess splattering on the stones next to my head.

I shrugged. "Passes the time." The spear was pulled back and I gingerly eased myself to my feet.

A young man, hardly more than a boy, scurried out of the shadows of the cave with a length of rope. Holding my hands out obligingly in front of me, I waited patiently while he fumbled with the hemp, hands shaking and his eyes flicking from his work to my face almost constantly. No sooner had he finished than he was gone, scrambling away over the rocks as he shot fearful glances back over his shoulder. One corner of my mouth twitched with amusement. Whatever stories were circulating about me, they certainly didn't seem to do anything to diminish my reputation.

Torric aimed a kick at his disgustedly as he passed. "Coward. Would you believe he was actually fighting to get me to take him on for this?"

"Youth is like that."

"Tell me about it. He's a dead-eye with a sling and stones though. I've seen him take down a hawk on the wing. All right, get moving. It's going to take the better part of the day to reach Deningrad, and we don't have enough snow runners for everyone."

"Sounds fun."

"Enjoy it while you can. You're going to be one of the ones running alongside them."

"I knew there had to be a catch somewhere."

In trying to escape the cold winter winds the night before, a good campfire had been sufficient to keep my little cave at a decent temperature. Now though, forced out through the narrow entrance onto the windswept plateau beyond, the winter chill hit me full force. Thankfully, I had long since discarded my armor for a heavy lined overcoat, albeit a rather battered one. The oilskin took the worst of the bite out of the wind though, so I was moderately comfortable. Which was more than could be said for the shivering, motley crowd of hunters crowding around the cave mouth.

I'd seen happier. Chins blue with stubble and dark, five o'clock shadows etched beneath baggy eyes, they were dressed in the assortment of furs and parkas that made up the national winter dress of Mille Seseau. Ice crystals glittered where breath had frozen on beards and fur lined hoods; the nearest of the men cupped his fur mittens over his mouth and puffed hot air into them, trying to warm his freezing nose.

"You got him tied Torric?" A swarthy, hollow-eyed man carrying a chipped war axe squinted at me against the glare of the snow. "I want my share of the bounty, but I'm not coming near him unless he's trussed like a turkey."

"He's not going to bite you Caleb. Someone get that sword off his belt; if the queen don't want it, it'll fetch a nice price on the markets."

"It's mine," one of the men, a thin, rat-like fellow hurried forward, eyes bright as they took in the sword. The scabbard was plain battered leather but even a quick glance of the hilt showed it to be the work of a master. Burnished steel cross trees stretched out a hand span from either side of the grip, the early morning sunlight catching the smooth contours of the metal. The hilt itself was a fair deal longer than what one would usually expect to find on a blade meant for single handed use, but it was wrapped well in hard black leather, stained and worn from hours of use. Twined around it was a slim length of silvered wire, gleaming wickedly in the new light. This gave the rat-like man pause; as worn as the leather was, the wire looked painfully sharp. In the end he opted to remove the sword scabbard and all, cradling it in his arms by the sheath as he carried it away without ever touching the hilt.

I smiled thinly. He would try to remove the wire once he returned to the city, but he'd sooner be able to break the blade in half. That sword was a relic from the age of winglies; the material focus of the spell that had sealed Ragnarok into the pits of the Mountain of Mortal Dragon so many thousands of years ago. He had had me retrieve it from the ruins of the crater a few months past, and since then it had proved a valuable thing; tempered by magic, the sword would have only one master. Even should someone somehow manage to steal it, so long as I carried Ragnarok within me the blade couldn't be turned against me.

A second rope halter was slid over my head and around my shoulders, pinning my arms to my sides. Taking the end of the rope, Torric led me over to his snow runner and swung up into the saddle of the shaggy, two legged-beast. Fixing the lead tightly to horn of the saddle, he gave it an experimental tug. Satisfied, he raised his voice so that the other men could hear him.

"All right, listen up ladies! We got a full day's ride back to Denningrad from here, and I don't plan on fumbling around through the woods in the dark. Ryan, take Letton with you and scout ahead of us. I don't want to be delayed because some river ice decided it was gonna start breaking up early." He paused for breath while the two he'd appointed set their heels into their mounts and started off down the mountain, their snow runners' wide feet carrying them swiftly across the hard capped snow. "The rest of you lot form up around me, and keep your eyes open." With one last suspicious glance down at me he started off at a walk, pulling on the rope to make sure I didn't fall behind.

No snow had fallen overnight, but the wind sighing out of the passes had put a crust on the top of the snow that made walking difficult for the few of us on the ground, and those who were fortunate enough to be mounted had to slow their pace to match our own. It made for slow and tiring going, but it didn't take long for the steep slope and snow to take its toll. After half an hour of grumbling about our pace and glancing up at the sun Torric finally ordered one of his men to pull me up behind their saddle and picked up the pace to a lurching trot that allowed us to make considerably better time.

The ride continued like this for much of the day, sometimes riding, sometimes walking. When we finally reached the dense tree cover of the evergreen forest they put me on foot again. The snow was only ankle deep, and I jogged along at Torric's stirrup, stretching the cramps from my time mounted out of my legs as I ran.

The sun sank lower in the sky. When at last it had disappeared behind the darkened crowns of the evergreens that gave the forest its name, I let myself fall back to the end of my tether, surreptitiously working my wrists against the stiff rope bindings. In their hurry to reach the city the hunters had more or less ignored the state of my bindings, and as the darkness deepened I slowly worked them loose, one loop at a time.

(We're getting close to the city) Ragnarok grumbled. (Can't you hurry things up a bit?)

/Hold on a minute. I'm almost done/ I peered through the semi-gloom as Torric signaled the column to halt for a quick breather. /Who has the sword?/

(It's sticking out of that heap of gear fixed behind the saddle of the runner behind us. See it?)

I glanced around. The runner was a few paces behind us, just out of reach of the tether. I'd have no problem once the halter was off, though. /Got it/ Around my wrists the last loop of the rope fell free. Gripping the cords in my hands, I twisted them tightly between my fingers so that the slack wouldn't be noticed.

One of Torric's men nudged his mount forward, walking it impatiently in a circle. He was a big man, bundled in furs to the point that all that could be seen of his face were two dark eyes, glowing like dying embers in the last rays of red-gold sunlight filtering through the tree branches. A large rusting halberd was held loosely in one hand, ready to use at any given moment. He pulled his runner to a stop in front of Torric; the beast's blunt head tossing as it champed on the chilly metal bit.

"I'm not liking this much, Torric." He said bluntly, his voice a low growl pitched to carry. "Not liking this at all. We're never going to make it back to the city by sundown at this rate."

"Really?" Torric's slow voice was heavy laden with sarcasm. "And what would you suggest, Mark? Heading back at a full gallop and risk bustin' up your mount's leg? Where'd we be then?"

Mark shifted uneasily in his saddle. "I've ridden worse grounds than this before Torric, mark my words. S'not what I'm worried about. The wolves are hungry this time of year. A little pack of runners like this, they'd look on as a welcome treat. We might get back to the city short a runner or two if we run, but if we stay out here for too long, the wolves…well, this winter isn't getting any easier, but if the number of packs are shrinking its only cause them as are left are growing. Growin' hungrier too, and more daring if you catch my meaning."

Torric considered this, leaning back against the chair-like cantle of his saddle. More than once he glanced back at me before looking away again, weighing his options. At last he nodded curtly to Mark. "All right then. You take your horse and try not to break your fool neck heading for the city. Once you get there, head straight to the palace and tell them who we've got with us. One of those Sacred Sisters is a dragoon; she'll be anxious to get her hands on him. You change mounts and bring them back this way quick as you can. We'll keep after your trail, so we should meet you somewhere along the way, got it?"

The big fur-clad man nodded, apparently satisfied. Wheeling his runner about he slapped it across the back end with the butt of his halberd and they were gone, thundering off into the woods in a spray of snow. Torric watched him go, then turned his head away and spat on the snow beside the track. "Damned fool," he growled, then raised his voice. "All right, let's not stand around all day. Move it, ladies."

(Now would be as good a time as any, Dart)

I didn't answer. Instead, as Torric's horse started forward at a trot I let the tether snap tight, pulling me forward face first into the snow. I was dragged a few feet, bumping and tossing, before Torric pulled up with a curse, grumbling about hypothermia and exhaustion. Next to me the snow crunched noisily as the runner carrying my sword passed beside me.

Opening my fingers I let the rest of my wrist bindings fall away, at the same time shoving myself to my feet and shrugging the halter loose over my head. As the man swung his mount away from me with a cry, I lunged forward, my right hand finding the long hilt of my blade and heaving on it. With a sibilant whisper it slid free from the entrapping leather, the blade harsh winter turned steel in my hand. Flexing my wrist, I drove forward at the rear of Torric's mount.

The animal screamed as my blade flashed out across the back of the leg, cutting the muscle and sending it plowing forward into the ground as I whirled away to face the other rider again, who came charging through the snow with a roar, lance extended before him. Without thinking I ducked and twisted to the side, the steel tip of the lance missing my shoulder by a hairsbreadth. Rising from the crouch I slashed upward, cutting the spear haft cleanly in two and smashing the man from the saddle as he rode past. He tumbled to the snow, unconscious, but by then I had already turned to face the third man, approaching me cautiously on foot.

Anyone with half a brain in their head will warn you against ever taking on more than one man in a fight. Anything beyond this and the odds are against your favor and in truth running becomes the best option. But when there's no opportunity to run, tactics would dictate forcing your opponents to face you one at a time, if possible. But while this is true, whoever first thought up this school of tactics didn't have Ragnarok.

(Behind you) He barked as the third man went down beneath my sword, howling and clutching the bleeding stump of his arm. Twisting around, I stepped back and slashed out with my blade, knocking aside the point of Torric's short lance as he thrust it at my midsection. He'd been thrown free of his horse as it went down and his lip had split, dribbling blood down his face. Now he looked a bit-wild eyed as he thrust again, this time at my kneecap. As always, his dead arm flapped uselessly at his side as he wielded his weapon with the other.

/How many more are there?/ I demanded, slapping aside the trust and countering with a slash of my own, which Torric deflected with an expert flick of his spearhead.

(Two. One of them is having trouble with his horse, but I give you about five seconds before the other one gets his axe free and charges)

I grunted as Torric swung the haft of his spear around unexpectedly, catching me in the ribs. /He's mounted?/ I thrust out warningly, but the man danced warily away. He knew from experience that I never really got down to business until I took a hit.

(Yes)

/Glorious/ I growled. Torric shifted his grip and lunged forward again, driving at my midsection. Feinting a step backward, I shifted my weight mid-stride and moved swiftly toward him, knocking his spear clear away as I reversed my sword and drove the crystal-topped pommel stone hard into his gut. A stunned look on his face, Torric dropped like a stone. With him taken care of, I made a rush across the clearing to strike the fourth man out of his saddle before he could completely free his double headed axe from its entanglements. He fell sideways from the saddle with a lurch, striking his head nastily against the bole of a misshapen tree as he dropped.

Breathing heavily, I turned away from fallen man to face the last of them, the same young man who'd tied the bindings on my wrist in the first place. He'd only just managed to get his horse under control and now sat at the edge of the clearing, struggling to hold his horse with one hand while he fumbled at his waist with his other for his sling. When he realized he was the only one left mounted though, the sling fell from his grasp, forgotten in his panic. Then with a curse he set his heels to his snow runners' sides and was off, disappearing into the darkness between the trees.

/That wasn't so bad/ I sunk down onto my heels in the snow, waiting for my breath to come back. It had only been a brief fight, hardly lasting a minute, but the day's exertions had taken their toll on me.

(Keep your eyes open. The scouts are still out there, and that boy might run into one of them) And then, as an afterthought, (You should have killed him)

/Not the way he was running/ Wiping my blade on the snow, I examined it idly. It was long for a single-handed blade, almost long enough to be counted a bastard sword, but the steel was surprisingly light and sharper than a surgeon's knife. Two narrow blood channels ran almost the full length of the blade; between them glittered a line of curious, spidery runes etched in what almost appeared to be blue crystal, though they had neither cracked nor shattered with use. They spelt 'Ragnarok' in the wingly tongue, though all the power that name had lent to the sword had been used in the sealing spell.

When my breathing had returned more or less to normal I got back to my feet and slid the bare blade into my belt. The runner carrying my sheath had run off into the woods; I'd have to find a replacement later. One palm on the hilt of my sword to keep it from tangling itself in my legs, I made my way slowly back across the clearing to where Torric had crawled onto his elbows and was coughing up blood in bright spatters on the snow. If he heard me approaching, he gave no sign.

"Sorry about that Torric, but I'm sure you can understand why I'd rather not go back to the castle with you." I kicked his spear away and crouched next to him in the snow. "Miranda has an awful temper, and she might do some things she'd regret later."

The old hunter wheezed out a painful laugh, one that quickly turned to another wave of hacking coughs. "Regret? I don't think there's a person on this earth who'd regret doing much of anything to you, _child-killer_. That sacred sister would be counted a hero if she just chopped you up and left you for the bears."

My face stiffened a bit at that. "I see." I got to my feet, dusting the snow from my knees. Child-killer. The truth of that name cut deeply. But really…

I reached inside the folds of my overcoat, rummaging through one of the deep pockets that lined the interior.

(What are you doing?)

I ignored Ragnarok's hiss. _The truth is the truth. Ignoring it won't change a thing. _Tossing two flasks of healing potion into the snow beside Torric, I turned away. "Here. Split those between your men and get out of here quickly. That Mark guy wasn't kidding about the wolves, and they're not very picky about what type of flesh they take this time of year." Feeling slightly mollified, I started off into the woods.

(You wouldn't mind explaining what that was about, would you?) The dragon grumbled as we left the clearing.

I grunted, walking a little faster. The snow was shallower here, the ground sheltered by the wide boughs of pine and spruce trees. /Being ripped apart by wolves isn't a pleasant way to die. We're close enough to the city that they should be able to make it back safely, even if they don't meet up with that escort/

It didn't take long for darkness to fall completely. Moonlight filtered down through the snow-laden branches of the evergreens, painting the surface of the snow with a mosaic of light and shadow. I had gone perhaps half a mile when the first howls reached my ears, rising and falling like the wind in the cold night air. I stopped next to a squat fir tree, one hand automatically to my sword hilt while I listened. More lupine voices joined the call, until it seemed that the entire woodland must ring with the sound.

Slowly, the cry died away. It would rise again soon; once the wolves found the track of their prey, they would be loath to let it go. Unable to help myself, I took a step back in the direction from which I had come.

(Just leave them Dart. If they make it out, if they make it out)

/And if the wolves get them?/ I demanded.

(Wolves have to eat too) He said philosophically.

/Arrgh…/ I cursed aloud and turned around, pulling my sword carefully from my belt as I did so.

(Humans) Ragnarok complained as I started back the way I had came at a run. (They tried to kill you. Now you're trying to save them) He sighed. ( I think I've pretty much despaired of ever understanding your logic)

Torric had managed to rouse what was left of his men and had continued down the path towards Denningrad. By the time I returned to the clearing they had gone, though one of the fallen snow runners had been chopped to pieces where it lay, in hopes that the wolves would find it before they found them. The path of the hunters was painfully clear even in the darkness, a broad swath of churned up snow wandering back and forth among the trees. Sword held at the ready I followed after them, sometimes running, sometimes walking in order to conserve energy.

It didn't take very long to find them. The hunters traveled in a loose knot, gathered around the single runner that was left to them with their weapons at the ready, watching the woods nervously. Torric led the group, limping heavily every other step. One of the men rode slouched over in the saddle of the snow runner, swaying with every step the animal took. I stayed behind the tree line, out of sight as the cries of the wolves rose again.

(I don't know what you plan on doing) Ragnarok muttered. (You can't stop a pack of wolves all by yourself)

I remained silent. Of course I couldn't; it was difficult enough trying to kill one wolf on the run, let alone a pack. I could use my dragoon spirit, but then…

The hunters picked up their pace slightly, but now the wolves were starting to appear in the forest all around us, shaggy grey bodies moving in and out of the darkness. Once one appeared almost beside me, ghosting silently out from between the trees to regard me silently. Startled, I took a swipe at it with my blade, but the creature avoided it, baring its teeth at me in a silent snarl before disappearing back into the darkness.

We were perhaps three or four miles outside of Deningrad when the first of the monsters broke past me and lunged down the slope, only to be brought up short on the end of Torric's lance. After this there was no stopping the flow: emboldened by the death of the one, they began to race out from between the trees, staying back only just out of the reach of the longest weapons. In seconds a shifting, snarling ring of slathering jaws and foaming teeth surrounded them, wolves stalking back and forth as they gathered the nerve to attack.

At the edge of the tree line, I hung back in indecision, my own mind telling me to do one thing while Ragnarok growled another.

(Use the spirit! What's the matter with you? First you're worried sick about them being killed, and now you're freezing up when they're about to be ripped to pieces?) He fumed. (Just blast the beasts to Mayfil and be done with it!)

And still I hung back. Yes, I could easily destroy the wolves with the arm cannon of the Divine armor… and most likely kill the men as well. At the same time, if I left them…

A new sound reached my ears as I struggled with my options, a sound that was hardly audible above the snarls and barks of the milling wolves. The clack and rattle of a dozen arrows knocked and drawn in unison, followed by the snap and hiss of taught bowstrings released… and the wolves began to slump to the ground, falling beneath a black rain as the barbed shafts of the longbows found their targets deep in the bodies of the beasts. Confused by the sudden death in their midst the wolves began to break up, some fleeing back into the woods, others turning to face the new threat.

"Second rank fire! First rank down and reload!"

My head jerked up as another wave of wolves went down under the hail of arrows. I knew that voice.

(Looks like your friends still enjoy coming to the rescue)

/That's Miranda for you/

A third salvo of arrows rattled against bow staves as the strings were released, then a forth, and a fifth. Cheated of their meal, the remaining wolves fled into the darkness barking and snarling. Keeping myself pressed close against the rough bark of the tree, I prayed that the heavy, dark cloth of my overcoat would hide me within the shadows of the trees as Torric's rescuers started forward, twoscore armsmen with torches held aloft. And at their head, dressed in a heavy blue felt jacket and black breeches, came Miranda, an arrow still knocked to her bow. This was unsurprising; I pulled back farther behind the massive trunk of the tree. What was surprising was the child-like girl who tailed her, as scantily dressed as ever even while she shivered beneath an enormously thick sable cloak. Meru's silvery hair shone in the torchlight, and her head moved constantly as she chatted with the archers and the hunters.

I felt a smile pull at the corners of my lips as I watched her make her way amongst the armsmen. Even from a distance Miranda's advancing age had been noticeable in the shape of her face and color of her hair, grey shining with blonde in the torchlight, but Meru was unchanged from the day I had met her. I leaned out a little more from behind the tree, forgetting myself as my eyes followed her though the crowd. Of course…hadn't she once told us that winglies aged differently than humans and gigantos?

(_Dart!_)

I pulled back just in time as two arrows buzzed past my side, one of them actually catching itself in the thick fabric across the shoulders, though it only grazed the skin. As I pulled away I caught a brief glimpse of Miranda darting across the clearing toward me, reaching into her quiver for another arrow as she did so. Without another thought I broke and ran, zigzagging between the trees in hopes of throwing off her aim should she get me in her sights.

I kept running until my legs burned with fatigue. Ragnarok advised me that wearing myself out in a forest full of monsters was probably not the smartest thing in the world to do, but I didn't care. Miranda made a more difficult foe than an entire forest of beasts, though it wasn't because of the arrows. Oh sure, if she had the chance, she'd shoot me. Somewhere painful and incapacitating, but not life threatening; maybe the knee or thigh. She might kill me eventually, probably with a warrant signed by the three kingdoms, but before she did she'd ask me the question I hope I lived never to hear. That all-encompassing 'why?' was something I didn't think I'd ever be able to answer completely.

When at last I found I could run no more, I sunk down sweating and panting in the snow behind the base of a tree. I had some time yet; even if Miranda was still tracking me. Because of Rose's choker my body was much younger than her own was and in any case, I had always been the faster runner.

I'm not sure when it was that I began to laugh at the complete irony of it all. Years ago, sitting in the snow on the outskirts of a forest so much like this one with my hair and face blackened with soot and ash, I had sworn that once I was old and strong enough, _I_ would become the hunter of the monster that had destroyed my home. And now, older and wiser, I was the _hunted_.

My laughter was a thin sound, feeble and lost amidst the surrounding trees. A few minutes later I got to my feet and started off deeper into the forest, leaving Miranda's arrow snapped in two on the snow for my hunter to find.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alrighty then. That's Chapter Two revamped. Once again, my apologies for the poor quality of the chapters to come. I'm working on fixing them as I come to them, but of course normal updates are taking precedence, so be patient.


	3. Haschel

Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own LOD. I may put Dart's life through hell, but I don't own him or anyone else. //Ragnarok// /Dart/   
  
It was a couple months after the mercenary incident. Skipping the Evergreen Forest, I had started to wander again; right now I was drawing close to Lohan. I know that a commercial city probably doesn't sound like the best place to hide, but in Lohan it's easy to lose your identity and hide in the crowd.  
  
Passing the signpost that marks the border between Tiberoa and Serdio, I turned south. Lohan was across the plains near the foot of the western mountain range. Not too far away was the ocean; Rogue was only a couple hours flight from there. I frowned. I could just as well go to Rogue instead of Lohan. In Rogue I would be recognized for sure, even if Haschel weren't there, but no one would turn me in. People from Rogue don't tend to argue if they know you can beat them in a fair fight.  
  
//Did I just detect a change in plans?//  
  
/We're going to head to Rogue instead/  
  
Ragnarok didn't seem surprised. //Any particular reasons?//  
  
/Not really. I just have this feeling that I should be there, that's all/  
  
//Suit yourself//  
  
I kept walking until we reached the coast sometime the next afternoon. Just as we arrived the sky opened up and it began to rain, lightly at first, and then coming down in a great torrent. Swearing, I took cover under a rock overhang.  
  
//Where did this sudden burst of bad temper come from?//  
  
/I hate flying in the rain. Do you know how uncomfortable that armor is while it's wet?/  
  
//No, because the last time I recall having a body of my own, I was the dragon, not the dragoon //  
  
/Shut up/  
  
Stepping out into the rain, I walked down to the shoreline and activated the dragoon stone. There's a major difference between having the dragoon stone in your body and holding it normally. When you hold it normally you get a charge out of whatever element is powering it, but since it's outside, you don't really feel it. When it's inside you the power rush is enough to send you to your knees, depending on how much time you have to prepare. If I changed with little or no time to think about it, I probably would go to my knees.  
  
The flight over the ocean was more than a little difficult. The winds from the storm created sudden down drafts or cross currents that made it difficult to stay in the air. The sea below was like molten lead; dark waves broke upon one another, sending off showers of foam whenever they struck a protruding part of the coral reef that lie just beneath the surface. Purplish bolts of lightning flickered from horizon to horizon, accompanied by deafening rolls of thunder.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I caught sight of Rogue. Amid the turbulent seas it was a wonder that the low-lying island wasn't swamped by now. Landing on the north side of the island, I reverted to human and walked the short distance to the village.  
  
The lights were out in all of the huts but one. I found it hard to believe that anyone could sleep through a storm like this, but I was thankful that no one would be around to see me. The villagers wouldn't say anything if they did, but I couldn't say the same for any travelers that happened to be passing through. Rogue was a far cry from being a seaport, but sailors always would head for the nearest sheltered cove when a storm came. Currently Rogue's small cove was packed with ships of every imaginable shape and size.  
  
Avoiding the lights from the small inn, I passed through the village and headed for the sparring platform. Haschel's hut was built at the edge of it where he could watch his disciples while they trained. As I drew closer I could see that the door of the hut was open, banging loosely in the wind. Haschel wouldn't be in there; he liked storms.  
  
I found him sitting at the edge of the platform under the look out tower, staring out at the ocean. He didn't glance over as I joined him. We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the waves break on the base of the cliff below. I frowned. It wasn't like Haschel to be so quiet. I was about to say something when he finally spoke.  
  
"I was wondering if you'd come."  
  
I glanced over at him. Even at his age he still cut an impressive figure, despite the gray in his hair and oversized moustache. Haschel still wore the same fighting robes he had the last time I had seen him several years ago; I wouldn't be surprised if he could still fight someone half his age and still win. "What do you mean?"  
  
He ignored my question. "How old do you think I am?"  
  
His question caught me off guard. " I don't know. Seventy?"  
  
"Try eighty."  
  
"Has it been that long already?" If he was eighty, that would make me forty-three. I blinked. Wearing Rose's choker had already made me begin to lose perspective of time. "You don't look it."  
  
Haschel laughed, but it wasn't his usual one. Instead, this one almost seemed self-mocking. "Of course I do. And even if I don't look it, I still feel it." He looked at me for the first time, an amused expression on his face. "You're the one who hasn't aged. I have a suspicion that Rose had some hand in it?"  
  
Wordlessly I pulled down the neck of my shirt. The stone in Rose's 'gift' shone wetly in the faint light. I allowed him to examine it for a moment before covering it back up again.  
  
He nodded. "I thought so." He muttered, and looked back out at the storm. "What happened to your spirit?"  
  
"I keep it safe. What about yours? Is it still in the Indolas castle?" After the Cygnet War, as it had come to be called, the Serdians had set to work re-building Bale. The other dragoons had been keeping their spirits in a safe there.  
  
"No. After you lost it, Albert returned our spirits to us incase you tried anything again."  
  
"Figures," I said. Another pause. "Do you hate me?"  
  
"Of course not. None of us do. We just don't agree with what you're doing."  
  
"Is that why I was tried as being insane?"  
  
Haschel scratched his beard. "Partly. Look at it from our point of view. You were a survivor of Neet. After that you spent years trying to find the monster that did this to your home. And now, after seeing all of the pain that Rose caused, you're taking her place?" He shook his head. "The fact that you were insane was the only reason we could think of to explain what you did. The cycle of the Moon Child died with Melbu Framah twenty years ago."  
  
Now it was my turn to disagree. "That's where you're wrong. Haschel, the moon is back in the sky and the divine tree is slowly healing itself. If it was really Soa's will that this Virage Embryo 'cleanse the earth', do you think that the cycle would stop when one failed?  
  
I know how crazy it sounds, but the Moon Children are still out there, waiting to be born. The whole cycle will continue to repeat itself, and if someone doesn't do something, the Virage Embryo will return. I fought him once, and I really don't want to have to do the same thing all over again."  
  
"But how do you know this for sure?"  
  
I took a breath. If this came out wrong, Haschel was going to really think I was insane. "Haschel, how much were you able to do with your dragoon spirit?"  
  
He shivered, but didn't move. "Turn into a dragoon, obviously."  
  
"Was that all?"  
  
"Of course. Were they supposed to do anything else?"  
  
"I think so." After a sharp correction from Ragnarok I smiled grimly. "Actually, I know so."  
  
Haschel shivered again, more violently this time. "Oh? What else can they do?"  
  
"Keeping in mind that they are the spirits of dragons themselves, would it surprise you if you could use them to talk to those dragons?"  
  
He thought about it for a moment. "I guess that makes sense," he conceded.  
  
"Ordinary dragons aren't the most intelligent creatures in the world, so I don't know how much you'd learn from talking with them. They probably don't feel like talking anyhow, so it's understandable that none of us could do this before." I took a breath. "The divine dragon is different. I know he caused a lot of damage before, but he's more directly involved with this world and its matters then the other dragons are. He doesn't like the way the world turned out perhaps, but he doesn't want to be destroyed any more than we do."  
  
Haschel raised an eyebrow. "Dart, the divine dragon has been dead longer than Melbu."  
  
"Try telling him that. The other dragons died too. But you've summoned yours before in battle; how dead would you say he was?"  
  
Remembering the vast destruction his dragon had caused during battles, Haschel laughed. " Not very."  
  
"It's the same for the divine dragon. He's hanging around, but he's minus a body at the moment. But he's still rather vocal."  
  
"So you're saying that he's the one who told you to do all this?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you believe him?"  
  
"Dragon's can't lie Haschel. They can do just about everything a human can't, but they are incapable of lying."  
  
Haschel sighed and stood. Once he started to move, his age began to show. Despite his posture while he sat, when he walked he stooped his shoulders and limped slightly. Getting to my feet, I followed him back to his hut.  
  
Once inside, he shut the door and opened a box that sat on the table. Inside, resting in an indent in the hard black stone was the dragoon spirit of the violet dragon. Haschel took it out and tossed it to me. "Catch."  
  
I caught it. Haschel must have seen the expression on my face because he started to laugh. The laugh, however, swiftly turned to a fit of coughing. He made his way to the bed and lie down. When he finished coughing, he turned his head to look at me. "What do you look so surprised about?"  
  
"You believed me."  
  
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"  
  
"I don't know. But why are you giving me this?"  
  
Haschel sighed. "I'm not sticking around much longer. This world doesn't hold much interest in an old man like me."  
  
"Don't say things like that!"  
  
"Don't yell." He blinked sleepily. "I will say this: I don't envy you. You have a very long road ahead of you, and a lot of unpleasant things to do. If what you say is true, then the fate of the world still hangs in the balance. But I feel better knowing that the one balancing our side is you."  
  
"I didn't want to do this, Haschel."  
  
"I know you didn't. Nobody in their right mind would." He looked at me again before closing his eyes. Then he said something I never expected to hear him say. "You have your mother's eyes."  
  
/What?/ I came over and kneeled beside the bed.  
  
"Claire always used to dream about having a son like you. Even after all you've done and all you're about to do, I know that she'd be very proud of you."  
  
He drifted off to sleep. A few minutes later, his breathing stopped.  
  
I stayed there for the remainder of the night. The storm had passed and the sun was just starting to show over the horizon when someone from the village came to check on Haschel.  
  
He opened the door and froze. A boy of about seven, he'd probably never seen me before. I got to my feet and brushed past him. Once I was outside I took a couple of breaths of fresh air to steady myself.  
  
"What's the matter with Master Haschel?"  
  
I turned to face the boy. "Master Haschel has left us," I told him in as gentle a voice as I could manage. "Would you please inform the mayor?"  
  
The boy swallowed before nodding. I turned to leave.  
  
"Wait! Who are you?"  
  
I didn't stop. "Master Haschel's grandson."  
  
Heading back over the hill to where I had landed the night before, I prepared to leave. Ragnarok had been silent the whole night; he may have been a dragon, but he knew when to leave me alone. The full impact of what Rose had gone through finally had struck me. I had immortality, but it was coming at a very high price. One by one the people I knew and cared about would die, until I was alone. This was a price that I would have given anything not to have to pay.  
  
Unfortunately, the choice to pay it was no longer mine.  
  
There! Another one!  
  
**sniffs** I didn't want to kill Haschel, but I didn't have much choice. .  
  
After a complaint or so, I'm dropping the review threat. I'm sorry if I offended anyone else by it. Hit me with a tick mallet. ^^ 


	4. Ragnarok

Disclaimer: I'm starting to get real sick of these disclaimers.**pokes Albert** Albert: **holds up a sign that says 'Shade does not own LOD'** . Thank Soa for that. POV: Ragnarok  
  
Sometimes I wonder why I started out on this pointless journey in the first place. It's not like I'd care if the human race were destroyed. In the past, I had actually tried to achieve that ideal myself; all they do is cause noise and confusion anyway. If I had left things be, the Moon Child would have taken care of the humans on its own. Unfortunately it would also kill the other races in the process, and no matter how much I liked the idea of humans and winglies being sucked out of existence, I had no such wish for the same thing to happen to the dragons.  
  
A dragon's existence is different than that of other species. Humans pass us off as stupid; winglies respect us. All species fear our destructive nature and the power that we wield. Yet through all of this fear and respect, they remain oblivious to the fact that we, along with our incarnations, are the soul guardians of this world.  
  
I accept this fact grudgingly. I do not see why the strong should protect the weak; in my mind if you need to be protected than you do not deserve to live. The other dragons think along other lines. Maybe the humans are correct in thinking them stupid. Their connections to their human partners must have slowed their minds; fifteen thousand years ago they would have been content to let humans and winglies fight until they destroyed each other utterly while we sat by and watched. But Soa was not to let that be.  
  
Eleven thousand years ago, in response to the human's pleas for aid and liberation, Soa bound the fate of the dragons to that of the humans. Seven dragons, Rythl, Madgor, Xern, Acrrea, Kaze, Evengil, and Umbre, were slain by humans and reborn as partners to the dragon knights, or dragoons. Together they acted as the spearhead of the human armies, following a man who called himself Diaz. Predictably most of the dragoons died during the final battle, but their dragons survived.  
  
I did not join the fight for more reasons than one. Besides my general will not to become involved in what I deemed 'pointless conflicts', I was deeply disturbed by the implications of what Soa had done. Though no human had approached me in request of aid, I could none the less feel the presence of one such being somewhere in the future. And though he had not yet begun to move about in the world, the presence of his spirit hovered at the back of my mind like an ominous cloud.  
  
At first I raged at the fact that I may someday find myself slave to the will of some unworthy human, but soon I became confident that no one, not even one aided by the will of Soa himself, would be able to over come me. My mind and spirit where limitless; surely no feebleminded human would be able to overcome it.  
  
However, my musings where interrupted when a group of enterprising young winglies decided that I should be sealed away, lest I decide to join the fight against them. One wingly, or even ten, does not provide much of a threat to a dragon such as myself. Even the hundred that they sent to fight me did not worry me unduly. But it was not numbers that was against me that day. My defeat came about through the use of two items used by Melbu Frahma himself.  
  
Dragon Buster and Dragon Block Staff.  
  
And so I was subdued and sealed within my own lair. There I spent eleven thousand years in solitude with only my hatred and thoughts of revenge upon the wingly race for solace. Eleven thousand years may seem like a long time to dwell on one thought such as revenge, but one does not lightly take defeat by an inferior race. And so over the millennia my hatred for that race festered and grew, occupying my every waking moment and thought. And so when I was finally released, I turned my anger and hatred to the nearest creation of the accursed winglies.  
  
I will admit that I was put out slightly when I flew over the Crystal Palace and found that humans rather than winglies occupied it. So humans had won the war. An unexpected turn of events, but beyond being robbed of a convenient target for revenge I was not really concerned. I could still feel the presence of winglies in the world, so my lust for revenge would not have long to wait before it was sated.  
  
I was making my final pass over the human city when I felt it. The spirit whose presence had rested at the back of my mind for so long was no longer dormant. He was in the city below me, struggling to come to bear with the force of my mind. I had not been aware of myself reaching out to him, but I guessed that somewhere in my subconscious I had. Focusing on the matter briefly, I found him rejecting me; struggling to force me out of his mind without being aware of what I was. In the few moments that I was in contact with his mind I found myself caught up in a welter of images and emotions. Places and things so familiar that they may have well been snatched out of the past. Things so new and alien that my mind instinctively flinched back from them. And out of the images that blurred through my mind, one caught my immediate attention.  
  
Dragoons. This human knew of the dragoons. And more than that, I realized, he was already one of them.  
  
Delving deeper into his mind I caught a flash of a large red stone, about the size of a human heart. But before I could press for even more information, I found myself being pushed back to the edge of the dragoon's psyche. An aura of power, weaker than my own but none the less formidable, washed over me. Another mind was there, blocking me out. I recognized that mind instantly.  
  
// Rythl//  
  
~Ragnarok~  
  
//Would you care to explain what you are doing here in the mind of this human?//  
  
~Your mind must be growing dull in your old age. He carries my spirit~  
  
//But the other-// I groped for the name.  
  
~Zeig?~  
  
//Yes. I thought that human was your partner? Did he abandon you?// I asked, not bothering to hide my amusement.  
  
~Not really. The time will come when we are reunited. Until that day, I reside with his son and prepare him for the presence of your tainted mind~  
  
//Then your work is for naught. I will never become the slave of some insignificant human//  
  
~Do you really think that you have a choice? Eleven thousand years ago we where given to the humans. What makes you think that you have any more say in the matter than we did?~  
  
//I am beyond you. I have no use for the will of others//  
  
~But will you contend with the will of Soa?~ he pressed.  
  
//If I must. Is that not what you and your human friend do day by day?//  
  
~We contend with Soa's plan, not Soa himself. And if this plan comes to pass then we are all doomed, no matter how far aloof we hold our selves from other creatures~  
  
I felt myself becoming irritable. //You bore me, Rythl. Go back to your babysitting//  
  
~As you wish. He is, after all, your partner~  
  
//We'll see about that//  
  
~ We will indeed. Farewell, Ragnarok~  
  
I detached myself from the human's mind and flew back to my mountain in silence. Inwardly I cursed Rythl's confidence. Normally I would have ignored him, were it not for my own doubt gnawing at the back of my mind.  
  
Not sure what to do about the apparent absence of the winglies, I contented myself with a second assault on the Crystal Palace. But what I found disturbed me even more than the discovery of my so-called 'partner'. Though my attack had blown the top off of the castle, I sensed that it's occupants where still alive and unharmed. As I made one final pass over the town, I perceived an aura of such power that it made my mind reel. In all of the history of this world, there has only ever been one creature with the potential for such power.  
  
The Moon Child.  
  
The re-appearance of the Child explained the presence of the dragoons. If the Moon Child had eluded destruction then only beings with such power as they would have the ability to stop it. Meaning that sooner or later, my 'partner' would come for my spirit. Resigned, I returned to my lair to await the humans.  
  
I didn't have long to wait. Surprisingly it wasn't the dragoons that came to confront me first as I would have expected. Fate was playing little irony games again. Winglies seal me for fear I would join the humans, and now a wingly tries to kill me for fear that I would destroy the humans. If I wasn't so bent on burning the bastard in divine fire, I might have laughed. Note the might have. This wingly was the strongest I'd ever seen or heard of and in addition to that he carried the dragon buster. Though it was obvious who the eventual victor would be, I was nonetheless hard pressed.  
  
It wasn't until we were both almost dead from exhaustion and blood loss that the dragoons came. After a short terse conversation, the wingly moved to the sidelines to watch the outcome and heal while the dragoons finished off the job. Utilizing the dragon block staff they managed to drain off the most potent of my abilities, sacrificing the power of their dragoon stones to do so.  
  
Despite the fact that they are human the power of the dragon is always with the dragoons, even when they are not in armor. After a relatively short battle, I was defeated by my 'partner', yet another wingly, and a man wielding a spear. And even as I lie upon the rocks dying, I saw the wingly I had fought before leap from his hiding place in the rock to land before my main eye.  
  
It is strange that so many things can change in the course of eleven thousand years, and yet so many things remain the same. Like how to obtain a dragoon stone. As I took my final breath, the wingly plunged the dragon buster into my eye and cut it open. The pain of this was distant; my spirit was condensing into the dragoon stone, my final form. But before the stone could shatter and thus save my spirit from being the slave of a human, the wingly reached into the cut he had made in my eye and pulled out the stone.  
  
After this there is not much to tell. I spent a month or so contained within that sphere. From time to time the wingly would try to coax me into allowing him the use of the divine armor, but I made sure that the stone remained dull and lifeless in his hands. He was able, however, to use the energy that radiated off the stone to create an armor only slightly less powerful than that of a dragoon. Seemingly content with that, he left me alone to brood in silence. From time to time I could feel the presence of the other stones, but that was all. It remained like this for quite some time until, nearly a month later, I felt the wingly die and the stone changed owners.  
  
Dart picked it up. Until now Rythl had kept his name a secret from me, but it appeared that the red-eye dragoon's spirit had moved on, leaving me free to move into his mind. I now understood the other dragon's eagerness to join with their partner. While in that stone I had been blind and deaf to all that went on around me. When you become connected to your partner it's like being born again. Rebirth was within reach, if only he would activate the stone.  
  
It took him awhile. He seemed hesitant to use the stone, fighting with his sword instead, as though he wasn't quite sure that he deserved to use my power. It wasn't until he received a wound that endangered his life that he called upon my strength. I was only too eager to oblige. As the armor spread over his body, his mind let down its guard. Taking a chance, I bulled my way in.  
  
The shock of it was the equivalent of being struck by lightning. In a heartbeat I could see, hear, touch and feel again. Sifting through Dart's memories I saw all that had gone on while I slept, or at least what he knew of it. And through the rush of information I slowly became aware of what he and his companions where fighting.  
  
Virage Embryo.  
  
The god of destruction had been born. In spite of all the precautions that the winglies had taken, it still had been born. I focused on the monstrosity before us. In response to my discovery, I felt Dart frown slightly. This wasn't the true god of destruction. The soul of the god had been forcefully extracted from its host and implanted into another, more willing, host. This god may be complete, but he was not pure. He still could be beaten.  
  
As we fought, I gradually became aware that Dart was struggling with my instincts. The need to kill was slowly overpowering him, and though he was sating it for the time being by attacking the monstrosity, if he could not control it there was no telling who he'd attack. Regretfully I retreated to the back of his mind, easing his urge to kill.  
  
The fight went on for quite some time. Dart changed rapidly back and forth from human to dragoon, occasionally using a spell or two. The god, whom I had now identified as Melbu Frahma, changed forms almost as often. Finally Melbu hesitated, unsure of what move to make next. Taking advantage of the gap in attacks, Dart transformed and began to gather energy for a spell. The Divine Dragon Cannon. As he prepared to cast the spell, I began to feed some of my power into his own to strengthen the blast.  
  
The force of the explosion was astronomical. It engulfed Melbu in a bluish-white light, the recoil of firing it blasting us back a full hundred feet or so. In my place in the back of Dart's mind I felt a mix of exultation and dismay. The blast had been as powerful as any I myself had created while I had been alive. The fact that I had needed the mind and body of this human to create such carnage dampened any mildly pleasing thoughts I may have had.  
  
Retreating to the back of Dart's mind once more, I shut out his thoughts. He was still oblivious to my existence, so I had no need to worry about being interrupted. Eleven thousand years is a long time to be asleep and many things happen of which we are not aware. Not one to let the past rest lightly, I settled myself down to the task of piecing together the disjointed information Dart knew about what had happened while I slept.  
  
Something told me that sooner or later we would need it.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
There! Sorry about the gap in updates, but I'm hitting a massive amount of writer's blocks lately. .; Oh well. Hope you liked it! 


	5. Promise

Disclaimer: I do not. WWWHHHEEE!!! HALLOWEEN! SUGAR RUSH!!!! BOB! **Blink blink**.. Sorry. I do not own LOD.  
  
Sorry if I confused anyone last chapter with the dragon talk. It's a little hard to write; I confuse myself with it, usually. Anyhow, Striker- It was Ragnarok who replaced Dart's heart with the divine spirit. When Ragnarok was poking around in Dart's head, the red spirit he saw was just a chance thought that he happened to grab onto. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of comparing it to a human heart. Sorry for the confusion! Also: I think that Meru's hammer is way scarier than Miranda's arrows, but I don't think that Meru would have thrown her hammer a hundred paces or so just to hit Dart.  
  
Dart's POV  
  
"Excuse me Mister, but are you all right?"  
  
/Huh?/  
  
"Umm, Mister?"  
  
//The lady's asking you a question, Dart. It's considered good manners to answer her// Ragnarok's voice echoed through my mind.  
  
I told him to shut up, but he continued to prod me until I opened my eyes and sat up, a move that I regretted instantly. Waves of pain crashed through my skull and I instinctively tried to clutch my face, thinking it might help. Human instinct sucks. This act only made my head hurt worse, a fact that Ragnarok found deeply amusing. I would have told him off if I had been able to think clearly through the hurt, but since I couldn't it only made Ragnarok laugh harder.  
  
I was suddenly aware of a cool touch on my arm, pulling my hand away from my forehead. "I wouldn't touch that," a young voice advised, "you'll only make it worse."  
  
I opened my eyes again and this time found myself facing a young girl of about eleven. She had dark hair that fell just short of her shoulders and dark tanned skin. Her accent and style of dress was Tiberoian, but that didn't make sense. I didn't remember much after leaving Rogue, but I couldn't have flown that far, had I? Shaking my head and sending another jolt of pain through my head, I slowly became aware of the fact that the girl was still talking.  
  
".found you a little while ago," she was saying. "I was gonna go back to Fletz to get help, but-"  
  
"Wait a minute," I cut her off, pushing the haze that obscured my thoughts aside. "Did you just say 'Fletz'?"  
  
She nodded and I closed my eyes and lie back again. So I had flown that far. But why didn't I remember?  
  
//You don't remember// Ragnarok informed me, // because you missed your landing and smashed your head on that rock behind us. I deactivated the dragoon stone, but you where out cold for a while. Honestly, after all this time being a dragoon I would have thought that you would know how to land by now//  
  
"Um, Mister?"  
  
I sighed and sat up again. "You can stop it with the 'Mister' stuff. Formal titles make me uncomfortable." I hesitated for a moment before telling her to "Just call me Arren." A false name never hurt anybody, and she was probably better off not knowing who I was.  
  
"Arren. I like that. My name's Tess," The girl beamed at me for a moment before turning her attention back to the wound on my forehead. When I flinched back from her as she reached towards the cut, she gave me a sharp "Stop that!" and a "Hold still!" before continuing. For someone as young as she, Tess certainly seemed to know what she was doing. Pulling off my bandana, she dampened a cloth from her water bottle and cleaned away the dried blood and the pieces of thread and dirt that had gotten into the wound. Rummaging through the small bag that she carried at her side, Tess produced a healing potion. Pouring what was left of the bottle onto the cloth she carefully wiped it onto the wound. When she was finished she sat back and dusted off her hands on her skirt. "There," she said, looking quite pleased with herself. "That should be fine now."  
  
Gingerly I touched it. She was right; the potion had started to take effect and the cut was slowly sealing its self. Satisfied, I replaced my bandana, despite her disapproving look.  
  
"It'll take longer to heal with that on." Tess told me, hands on her hips.  
  
"I don't care. I feel naked without this on. Besides, you seem to know what you're doing; it should heal on its own." I got to my feet and retrieved my sword from where it lay several feet away. "Where did you learn healing?"  
  
"From my mother: she runs the clinic in Fletz. It's been in our family for years. It would probably go to me, except." Tess looked suddenly awkward.  
  
"Except what?" I re-sheathed my blade and checked to see that the Violet Dragoon spirit was still safely attached to my belt. It rested out of sight, caught in a small metal holder. I didn't remember doing anything with it, but I strongly suspected Ragnarok had something to do with the matter. Along the rest of the belt were six more holders for what I assumed would be the rest of the stones. Great. So now I was going to have to guard the spirits as well as destroy the Moon Children. Life just kept getting better and better. I turned back to Tess. "Well?"  
  
She looked at the ground. "I didn't want to have to spend my life working in the clinic so I ran away," she whispered. "I got out of town well enough, but then I started to run into monsters. I ran from them, but I got lost."  
  
I looked at her gravely for a moment. "How old are you, Tess?"  
  
"Ten. Everyone says that I look older, though." She started to walk towards a well-beaten path that wound lazily around rocks and shrubs, slowly heading inland.  
  
I fell into step beside her. "I agree. Where you planning on going back to Fletz anytime soon?"  
  
"Well I was gonna wait until Dad came looking for me, but if you've got that big sword I shouldn't have to worry about any monsters coming after me." Tess looked admiringly at the hilt of the dragon sword, then at me. "Provided that you can use that thing."  
  
For some reason this statement struck me as enormously funny. When I finally regained my composure, I grinned at the confused child walking along beside me. "Kid, I've been using swords for a long time. I think I can handle a couple of monsters. So," I said, changing the topic, "Where are we going?"  
  
She shrugged, mimicking my grin. "I dunno. I'm supposed to be the one who's lost here, not you!"  
  
~  
  
The sun was just setting over Tiberoa's desolate red hills when we finally came to the gates of Fletz. Tess, half-asleep, rode on my back. She had walked for the better part of the day but was obviously not used to such exercise, so I had opted to carry her. But as we approached the gates she signaled for me to let her down; once on her own two feet she went directly to the nearest of the two guards lurking in the shadow of the gates.  
  
They only spoke briefly together, but it was clear that they knew each other. After a moment, the guard reached down and hugged her and Tess motioned for me to come with her into the city. As soon as we were through the guards began to winch the gates closed, shutting the citizens of the city in for the night. I had thought that ritual had gone out of usage with the disappearance of the bandits, but I guess that there were other things running around now to worry about.  
  
When I judged that we where out of earshot of the guards at the now closed gate I asked Tess who that guard was. She answered that he was her half brother and that he had told her for us to go to the clinic to alert her mother that she was back. Her father had gone up to the castle to try and get a search party organized to look for her.  
  
Inwardly I cursed. /Couldn't that man have waited just a little bit longer?/  
  
//Would you really do the same if you knew that your offspring was stuck outside in the wilderness with no way to defend them self? That goes against human nature, Dart//  
  
/I know, but this means that sooner or later I'm going to have to go up to the castle and if memory serves, this is the portion of the year that Albert usually spends with Emile/  
  
//That could cause some problems now, couldn't it? You'll have to bluff your way through it then. Albert can't publicly expose you without causing a massed panic amongst everybody in Fletz, and you haven't done too much wrong in the last year or so//  
  
/Thanks for the support/ I replied sarcastically.  
  
//Anytime//  
  
Tess led me though the streets to the clinic. I had been here several times before, but I tried to look as though this was all new to me. There had been a few modifications made to the place but nothing too extreme: a few new houses and a whole lot of new faces. The clinic itself was nestled in between a small house with a fountain in the shape of a crescent moon in front of it and the home of Fester the astronomer. I noticed, with a pang of sadness, that it had been expanded into a house more suitable for a large family. Old friends where passing away to rest while I was left behind to see that the world didn't come to a depressing finale in their absence. Believe it or not I envied them. I had a long, depressing existence ahead of me and if nothing else, Ragnarok wouldn't allow me to die until this whole thing was seen through. And Soa only knew how long that would take.  
  
Reaching the door to the clinic, Tess pushed it open and called for her mother, snapping me back to the present. Tess's mother was a tall woman of about thirty with dark brown hair pulled back from here face in a severe ponytail; a sharp contrast to the soft expression on her face. Though she was obviously glad to see her daughter again, she remained grave as she embraced Tess. Kneeling, she wiped some dirt off of the girl's nose, whispering quietly to her the whole time.  
  
When she finished with her daughter, she rose to her feet and thanked me with equal graveness before informing me that she would have to take me to the castle immediately. Something about presenting me to the king. I'm not sure; I was too busy trying to think up a plausible excuse to leave the city. By the time we had reached the stairway to the castle the best I could come up with was that I was allergic to royalty and let's face it: not even the most gullible courtier in the world would believe that.  
  
//You're over reacting again// Ragnarok murmured.  
  
/No I'm not. I'm just preparing myself for the probable future/  
  
//Would you rather have me handle this?//  
  
/Not really. I don't want the destruction of Fletz added to my permanent record/  
  
//Then stop thinking about how you're going to get out of this and focus on how you're going to get through it//  
  
We reached the castle and were escorted to the Chamber of the Sun. Normally I would enjoy my time there. An enormous room with floor-to- ceiling windows overlooking the bay on the right side of the room, the red and gold decorations of the chamber where in sharp contrast with the blues and ivories of the rest of the castle and city. I guess that the change of décor had something to do with the man sitting on the throne at the far end of the room talking with another man that I assumed was Tess's father. Albert's eyes where dark and serious as he contemplated the problem, brushing away the occasional strand of light chestnut hair when it fell across his face. He had aged somewhat and his long hair was touched slightly with silver at the temples, but he was still an impressive sight.  
  
I hung back at the entrance as Tess and her mother approached the throne. There was a shout of joy from Tess's father when he saw the pair. The girl's father could not have been more unlike his wife. Short and stout with a deeply tanned face he was a jolly, balding man of about forty or so. When he finally disengaged from the bear hug that he had caught Tess in, he was beaming. Behind him, Albert looked enormously relieved.  
  
Tess began to relate what had happened, but was stopped when she mentioned "Arren".  
  
"Arren is a Serdian name," Albert said, brows furrowing. "Would you send him in? He may be a messenger from Bale."  
  
Tess shook her head. "He doesn't look like a royal messenger. More like a ." she trailed off, unsure as to how to describe me. She glanced back in my direction, looking for help.  
  
There was nothing else for it now. Swallowing my uneasiness I walked up beside Tess and bowed. I had caught the look of surprise in Albert's eyes as I had come in. That made sense. Of all the places in Endiness, the Chamber of the Sun was the last place anyone would expect me to show up. I rose out of the bow and stood loosely with my arms at my sides. "What Tess is trying to say," I said, filling in the sudden silence, "is that I'm just a wanderer."  
  
Albert straightened slightly; regaining what little composure he had lost. We are grateful to you. Arren," he said formally, "for coming to Tess's aid. We welcome you to Fletz."  
  
I doubted that, but I bowed my thanks anyhow. There was a second strained silence. I stood uncomfortably trying to look as though I wasn't bothered, but I was grateful when Emile, Albert's queen, broke the silence by pleasantly inviting us all to dinner. I think I almost swallowed my Dragoon stone at the prospect, but I really had no choice but to accept.  
  
I retreated to the balcony outside to pass the time until supper while Albert conversed with Tess and her parents. The night sky was clear; the reflection of the stars and moon played across the water below me. Unbidden the memory of the night I had first kissed Shana here slipped into my mind. I sighed aloud; so much had changed since then. At least she wasn't around to what I had become.  
  
Emile wandered onto the balcony and stood beside me, watching the reflection of the moon on the ocean. We stood in silence together, neither of us making a move to speak. Occasionally I could hear Albert's voice over the general chatter emanating from the inside of the chamber. After what seemed an eternity Emile cleared her throat and turned to face me. "So Dart," she started, "How have you been?"  
  
"Spare me the formalities. I know you'd rather not talk to me anyhow." I turned back to the ocean.  
  
"Whatever gave you that idea?" She reached out and turned my face so that I was looking at her once more.  
  
I stared at her. She actually wanted to talk to me? I shook my head. What was she up to? "If you want to talk, then go ahead. I'm listening."  
  
She gave a tinkling little laugh before becoming serious once more. "You're going to have to talk to him sometime, you know."  
  
"I know. But it's a little difficult."  
  
"Is it really? You know, despite all you've done, he still considers you a friend. A friend who has done wrong, but a friend none the less." Emile gave me a sad smile.  
  
That caught me by surprise, but I tried not to show it. "Really?"  
  
"Yes, really. He won't admit it, but he misses you terribly. He'll probably want to talk to you after dinner." With one last smile and a pat on the arm, Emile stepped back inside. I shook my head. When I had first met her, Emile had been a princess out of a fairy tale. Now she had grown into a queen of the same sort.  
  
//That's to be expected. She was, after all, brought up for this//  
  
/I know, but it's still strange. I guess I still see her as the perfect little princess that married the King of Serdio/  
  
//Time changes people. On a lighter note, I think that they're about to call you in for dinner. Move it//  
  
/Fine/  
  
~  
  
Emile did most of the talking during dinner to cover the fact that neither Albert nor I were speaking to each other. She'd direct questions to one of us and then, almost before we were finished answering, would turn to the other with a "Don't you agree?". I was impressed with her tact: to any one looking in, it would almost seem that Albert and I were speaking.  
  
After supper I wandered outside again. The low wall surrounding the balcony made a comfortable seat if you didn't fall, so I settled myself down to wait for Albert. It seemed strange that I was apprehensive about talking to someone who had at one time been one of my most trusted friends. I mean, friends disagree and get in fights all the time, but it doesn't usually result in one wanting to throw the other in a cell and keep him there for the rest of his life.  
  
Albert came out a few minutes later and sat on one of the stone benches along the wall. I couldn't help but notice that he had his spear with him. I know that he is famed for being a warrior-king, but still.  
  
"Do you actually think you're going to have to use that thing?" I asked, leaning back against one of the pillars that rose every six feet or so along the wall. Now that he was in front of me I began to feel surer of myself.  
  
Albert made a wry face. "No, but it makes the courtiers feel safer. The last thing I need is for them to be causing a disturbance amongst the guards."  
  
"You're getting soft. Twenty years ago you wouldn't have listened."  
  
"I was dealing with Serdians then. Tiberoians are more argumentive and harder to please."  
  
"Do those courtiers know who I am?" I asked. Inwardly I winced. If anything would get to the eventual point of the conversation, this question would be it.  
  
"No. They're objecting to me not carrying a spear on a symbolic basis. They think that I should have something more material then a reputation to show that I'm also a warrior in addition to being their king." He hefted his spear, watching the lights of the castle play down its lethal blade. "Fortunatly, I haven't had reason to use it in a very long time." He glanced at me, taking in the tattered edges of my coat, my bloodstained bandana, and last of all, my Dragon Sword. His eyes lingered on the runes carved into the blade as he spoke. "It seems that you are a different story. I take it that that blade is a new acquisition?"  
  
"Not really. I've been packing it around for about fifteen years now, but I don't want to even guess at its actual age."  
  
"May I see it?" Albert took the sword and began to examine it closely. "Where did you find it? I've never seen craftsmanship like this before. The hilt alone is a work of art." He moved his examination down to the blade, stopping at the runes. "I don't recognize this form of writing," he admitted. "What is it?"  
  
"Dragon rune. It says 'Ragnarok'."  
  
His eye widened slightly and he looked at me. "You can read it?"  
  
I sat up and shrugged. "Sort of." Not really. Ragnarok had translated it for me.  
  
"Hmmm." Albert raised an eyebrow as I took back my sword. "What's the matter with you? You've been tense since you arrived."  
  
I blinked. He, the man who had an endless stream of mercenaries after my head, had me in a position where he could probably capture me within the space of two heart beats, and he was asking me why I was tense?  
  
"Dart?"  
  
"I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm wondering exactly when you're going to call your guards and shove me into a cell? You weren't exactly friendly to me the last time we saw each other."  
  
Albert stretched and stood. "I won't say that I didn't give the matter of cells some thought when you first arrived, but I don't think that's necessary any more. Besides, you'd probably just blast out a wall like you did before, correct?"  
  
"Probably. Walls don't present much of a problem. So why did you want to talk to me? I can't see you apologizing."  
  
He almost looked as though he might smile, but instead got to his feet and began to pace. "I didn't believe your story at first," he said, "But you seem a little too sure of yourself to be insane. There are other things, but they're not important right now. What I really wanted to talk to you about is the reaction of certain people to the apparent re-emergence of the Black Monster and the Moon Child." He waited until I nodded before continuing.  
  
"Not long after your appearances, some members of the population of the different countries went into a religious ecstasy. While that is not uncommon, this happened all at one time, right after the death of the Moon Child. At first it didn't seem like much, but eventually they began to gather for meetings in secret. Nothing much would happen; just some priest rambling on about "the judgment of all who oppose the will and plan of the creator Soa," and other things like that. But soon their attention became focused upon two things: the Moon Child and, well, you.  
  
"Since then they have become more organized. They call themselves the Cult of the Moon, and seem to follow the teachings of a priest who calls himself Wecra." Albert stopped pacing and turned to face me. "When the next Moon Child appears, they'll be there protecting it with their lives. You'll have to get them all at once, or face them every time a new Moon Child appears."  
  
Well this was great. Now in addition to the usual evangelists that accompanied the Moon Child, I'd have to out wit a hoard of crazed fanatics as well. The future just kept becoming more and more promising.  
  
//He's leaving something out//  
  
/You're sure?/  
  
//Yes. Ask him if this cult has any chapters in this town//  
  
I repeated Ragnarok's question. Albert looked surprised, then admitted that he had suspicions that there was. That settled things. Picking up my sword, I started to leave.  
  
Albert barred the entrance to the castle with the haft of his spear. "Where are you going?" He demanded.  
  
"If there's a cult here, then I may as well take it off your hands. If I don't it'll just come back to haunt me later anyhow." I ducked under the spear haft and into the now empty room. "I'll be back in a bit."  
  
"I'll go with you."  
  
I stopped. "No you won't. It might be dangerous."  
  
Albert laughed humorlessly. "So was Melbu Frahma. I'm a dragoon too Dart. If a bunch of peasants are enough to cause a threat classified as 'dangerous', then you may as well have someone along to watch your back."  
  
I gave in. A few minutes later we where walking around the waterfront district. In the relatively new area Albert led the way, as I had no idea where I was going. Unlike in the rest of the city, the streets were dark and narrow. When I asked why there where no lights, Albert said that the fishermen that lived in the area preferred it to be dark.  
  
The attack came swiftly; so sudden that we barely had time to raise our weapons to defend ourselves. Later I would berate myself for not seeing it coming: the darkness and the narrow streets made it the ideal place for an ambush. But at the present time it was all I could do just to hold the cultists off.  
  
They looked like ordinary townsmen, but ordinary townsmen didn't carry about swords and axes. And rarely did they use them with such efficiency. Though Albert and I had more power and skill, they had the advantage of numbers.  
  
Behind me I heard Albert activate his dragoon stone and send a wing blaster spell crashing through the midst of the aggressors. There were shouts of pain and alarm as he readied a second one, but I was distracted from seeing its effect when a tall burly man wielding a massive broadsword clove open my leg, sending me to the ground. As he raised his blade to deliver one final punishing blow, I unthinkingly activated my stone.  
  
If the appearance of the Jade dragoon had caused a reaction, it was nothing compared to the fear and hatred that greeted my transformation. And yet even as I raised the cannon arm to obliterate the mass before me, someone found the nerve to act.  
  
As Albert completed an addition that took out five men in one fluid movement, one man with a long needlepointed dirk slipped in behind him. Avoiding the beating wings, he shoved his weapon into the exposed area just under Albert's armpit. The reaction was instantaneous. Even as Albert fell to the ground the dragoon stone deactivated itself. I saw it for a brief second, a green glow falling to the ground beside its master, before the man who had stabbed Albert snatched it out of mid air and disappeared into the crowd.  
  
As Albert hit the ground I felt my blood turn cold. Swinging my cannon in the general direction I thought the killer had taken, I let off three blasts, one after another. They cleared large swaths through the retreating mob before crashing into the houses and the street leaving gaping holes wherever they struck. Lowering my cannon I watched them run for a moment before turning my attention back to the fallen King that lie on the ground beside me.  
  
Dropping my blade, I reverted to human form and knelt at Albert's side. He was bleeding heavily; blood had soaked through his clothes and was slowly pooling on the cobbled stone street. Unfastening my bandana I wadded it up and pressed it against the wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. Albert groaned slightly and pushed it away.  
  
"Don't." He said weakly.  
  
"But-"  
  
"Get out of here."  
  
I started to object again, but he shook his head weakly. Wanting him to stop moving, I said nothing. Blood had started to trickle out of the corner of his mouth, running down his chin in a thin red line. "You have to get out of here now," he said, laboring with the words. "The cult will blame this on you."  
  
"But I can't leave you to die!"  
  
"It's not your choice." Despite being at the edge of eternity his voice came out strong. "Dart. As my final act as the King of Serdio I charge you with the fate of the world. Will you carry out the final wish of your King and friend?"  
  
I bowed my head, hot tears running down my face. "To my death."  
  
Albert rested his head back against the stones and closed his eyes. "Then I go in peace. Farewell, my friend."  
  
How long I knelt by Albert's still body I do not know. I was vaguely aware of Ragnarok gently pushing my mind aside and taking control of my body. I didn't care: exhaustion had suddenly overcome me. First Haschel, and now Albert. The prospect of spending an eternity guarding this world without my friend was starting to seem increasingly uninviting. But I had made a promise to Albert. And even as Ragnarok fled the city, I swore that this was one promise I would never go back on.  
  
  
  
Whaaa! I can't believe I just did that to poor Albert, but I didn't want him to die of age. I wanted him to have an honorable death, and falling in battle protecting your friends is to me one of the most honorable ways to go. But still. **starts to wack herself over the head with her TICK MALLET OF DOOM** Bad me! Bad! Bad! Bad! 


	6. Ulara

Disclaimer: Bob. That says it all, doesn't it?  
  
**Dream sequence**  
  
  
  
Ragnarok's POV  
  
I escaped from the twisted streets of Fletz just ahead of the guards from the castle. The cry of anguish that came up when they found the still body of their fallen king could probably have been heard in Doneau. Grief slowed them, but only for a minute or so. By the time I had reached the shoreline I could hear them opening the gates at both ends of town and spilling out into the barren landscape to search for me.  
  
As I waded into the harbor I berated myself for not realizing what was going on earlier. The attack had been aimed at Albert, but it's purpose had been to turn whatever positive feelings the Triad of Endiness (Millie Seaseu, Tiberoa, and Serdio) had for Dart into a festering hatred. As soon as the word of what had happened here reached the other two countries, there would be very few inhabited places that we could hide without being discovered. The cult had done its job well. In the space of five minutes they had cut off the Black Monster's easy access to the Moon Child as easily as one cuts string with a keen knife. I was impressed.  
  
However much I was impressed, though, it was nothing compared to my irritation. I do not enjoy it when someone cuts the bottom out of my plans. Now we would have to wait until Dart's name and face was more or less forgotten before we could travel within the Triad without encountering hostility. Rose had done the same thing eleven thousand years ago when she had first started out on her portion of this quest. And now it would seem that history was forcing us to repeat it.  
  
The water was now up to the shoulders of Dart's body, occasionally splashing onto his face. I shuddered, shaking off the cold water. Dart rarely let up control of his body to me, but right now I could barley feel his presence. Albert's murder, happening so close to Haschel's passing, was too much for him to bear. He had retreated to a distant corner of his mind and shut everything else out, trusting me to take care of the rest. He'd resurface eventually, but first he would have to come to grips with what had just happened.  
  
Along the shore behind me the light from the torch of an advancing sentry bobbed up and down as its carrier tripped and stumbled over the rocks jutting out of the stony beach. Every few feet he would stop and, in the light of the torch, I would see him bend down to examine the ground, presumably searching for footprints. Not that he would find any. The rising tide had already swept over the area of beach where I had walked, erasing any trace of footprints.  
  
As he drew closer I submerged and swam out deeper. I didn't expect him to see anything with that torch in front of his face, but there was no point in taking chances. Surfacing several meters farther out, I waited until the sentry had passed completely before making for the point of land that jutted into the ocean out about half a mile away. I would have to hurry. By morning this area would be flooded with guards, and I definitely did not want to have to deal with a hoard of angry, grief-stricken Tiberoians while trying to escape.  
  
The cold from the frigid water had begun to sink into Dart's bones, making his joints stiff and hard to move. Grimly I forced onwards. I didn't want to harm Dart's body, even if he wasn't really occupying it right now, but I had a feeling that there wasn't going to be much help for it. The only way out of this situation was to keep swimming.  
  
By the time I reached the point, Dart's whole body had gone numb. It still responded somewhat, but it was slow and stiff with poorly judged movements. No matter. Once the dragoon armor was on the wings would be doing most of the work. The flight to Ulara would be almost as long as the flight to Rogue, but as long as the wings didn't give out on me I should be fine.  
  
Above the clouds it wasn't any warmer, but at least it was dry. The air was thinner up here so I occasionally would have to fly below the clouds, in the weather so to speak. It bothered me that I couldn't fly as high as I had been able to in my old body. Then again, it bothered me that I couldn't do anything I had been able to do in my old body with out the use of Dart's. Despite the twenty years of partnership, I still felt restricted. I couldn't even satisfy my need to obliterate things lately without having to have Dart wish to do the same. And while I still got in a fair amount of destruction, Dart's mind still resented what he was doing. He was too soft. Of course, most humans classified as 'too soft' by my ideals.  
  
I wondered how much longer he would be able to remain like that. When you have a being whose entire existence has been circumscribed by destruction living inside your head, even if you are the gentlest of all people, you will slowly be drawn in by the call and insanity of total war. For sure Dart did not have the most gentle of minds, but he kept his anger and other destructive emotions well in check. It would be interesting to see how long he remained free of my emotions. Or, for that matter, how long before his thinking slipped out of line with that of a human and more onto the level of dragons.  
  
According to Acrrea, the dark dragon, Rose had not lasted long. The death of her friends had weighed heavily on her conscience. Desperate that the lives of her friends and Zieg were not spent in vain, she had let her emotions desert her when the task of eliminating the Moon Children became too much for her too bear any other way. The meeting with the dragoons had slowly revived her feelings, but up to that point she had remained impassive to emotion. Cold as ice and dark as the depths of the deepest night. Ruthless in the drive to accomplish her goal. Yet always in the back of her mind, sorrow. The perfect partner for a dragon such as Acrrea.  
  
//Who knows,// I thought to myself as the endless seeming sands of the Death Frontier gave way to jagged outcroppings of red stone and pools of sinking sand. //Maybe he can withstand it. It'll be interesting to see whom he turns out to be//  
  
  
  
Dart's POV  
  
**The village of Neet was consumed by fire. Black smoke poured from the smashed windows and collapsed roofs of the stone houses, obscuring vision and finding its way into the lungs of those few people still living. Fire hungrily licked at the stone; the straw and wood had long since been swallowed up in the blaze.  
  
In the corner of one of the homes a small boy crouched with a cloth covering his mouth, trying not to breath in any of the smoke. The screams from the villagers had stopped long ago; the only sounds now where the crackle of the flames and the crunch of stone walls falling as some hideous force tore them down by main strength alone. Whimpering slightly and closing his eyes, Dart huddled closer against the wall, trying to make himself as small a target as possible.  
  
Crunch, thud, smash! The monster was coming closer.  
  
And suddenly it was there, smashing the wall apart as though it where made from wooden blocks. Dark and terrible and wreathed in black flame, the Black Monster stalked towards him, her gossamer wings spread menacingly behind her. When she came close enough to see clearly, Dart gasped. This was no monster. It was human, if you made allowances for the wings.  
  
"Where is she," the woman spoke, her voice flat and emotionless. "Where is Princess Louvia?"  
  
"I d-don't kn-know," Dart stuttered, "I-"  
  
"Liar," she hissed, grabbing him by the front of his smock. Dart flinched back as the black fire surrounding her licked at his face, but she paid no notice.  
  
"I'm n-not ."  
  
She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. With a negligent seeming toss she flung him into the wall. His head cracked against it, causing his vision to explode in a burst of light.  
  
The monster took one step forward and quite suddenly Dart wasn't that little boy anymore. When the lights faded from his vision, he was rising one cannon arm to point it at a little girl lying brokenly in a heap by the wall. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him to stop, but he only hesitated for a moment before building up energy for the blast.  
  
"This world's one hell of a complicated place, kid. No one should have to live his or her life in confusion. I'll help you out a bit."**  
  
I sat up abruptly, knocking the homespun coverlet askew. Breathing heavily, I wiped the sweat off my forehead. I had had that dream, or others similar to it, many times before. That I would feel guilty and have nightmares about what I had done was to be expected. But this dream had been far more lifelike than the others. I could feel the heat searing my hair as I crouched in the corner of the burning home. I could still remember how difficult it had been to breathe, and I could feel the mind-numbing pain as my body had hit the stone wall and broke. But what was worse was how much more vivid the dream had become once I had switched places with the monster. How I had felt every tiny surge and each miniscule movement of the gears as the cannon had leveled itself, readying to pour death upon the tiny form that lie in the shadow of the blackened stone wall. But most disturbing of all had been the overpowering sense that what I was doing was right. That this is what I was born to do. But that couldn't be true: it was only a dream.  
  
Wasn't it?  
  
I took my head in my hands and closed my eyes. Was that how Rose had felt about this whole thing? Just enter the fray, do what was right, and leave without giving a thought to those affected by her actions?  
  
I shook myself mentally. Of course that wasn't how it had been. I'd talked to Rose about this before. She had known what she was doing, and it had hurt her. She would never have admitted to it aloud, but the pain and suffering that she had endured throughout the ages past was etched into her face told more than any words freely express. She'd seen death's face. All she'd had to do was look into a mirror. But then who had been the monster that had cared about nothing but destruction?  
  
/It couldn't have been me . could it?/  
  
That thought grabbed my attention. Was that really me? Did I really have that capacity for such heartlessness? Not now, certainly, but would something happen to me one day that would force me over the edge like that?  
  
//Glad to hear you thinking. You've been too quiet for the past week or so//  
  
/Was I out that long?/  
  
//Approximately//  
  
Great. And the whole time I had vacated my body, the Divine Dragon had been in control. Vaguely I wondered what sort of shape the world was currently in. /Where are we?/  
  
//Ulara. The winglies of agreed to let us stay for as long as we have want to. //  
  
/Nice to know that at least some of the world isn't out for my blood/  
  
//I wouldn't be too pleased about that. Charle-//  
  
"Dart honey pie!"  
  
//-knows you're awake// Ragnarok finished his sentence in a resigned tone. He retreated quite pointedly to the back of my mind at that point.  
  
Taking my head out of my hands, I looked up. Charle Frahma stood in front of me, beaming in her usual happy go lucky way. Radiant in her bright, multi-hued dress, it was obvious that the years since I had seen her had not in any way diminished her energy. In her own way, this was the most terrifying woman alive, wingly or otherwise. The world could be falling down apart her ears and that woman would be laughing and 'honey pie- ing' the nearest virage. Last time we had been here, Rose had developed a noticeable twitch whenever Charle called her 'Rosie'. If you had the ability to make Rose twitch, you had to be fairly terrifying.  
  
"I'm so happy to finally see you up, Dart sweetie! I was beginning to fear that you would sleep the rest of your life away." Charle chirruped happily.  
  
"That might not be too bad of an idea," I muttered, getting to my feet. "Good morning Charle, you're looking well."  
  
"Oh, I get by. By the way, it's mid-afternoon." She looked me up and down. "Oh, you must be starving. Arkie barely ate a thing while you were napping."  
  
"Arkie?"  
  
"That delightful little dragon you have living in your head." If possible, Charle's smile doubled in size. "He's so much fun to chit-chat with. He seems awfully unhappy though."  
  
/Arkie?/  
  
In the back of my mind I felt Ragnarok cringe. //It was that blasted woman's idea. I told her my name at least a hundred times, but she can't seem to get it through her head that my name isn't 'Arkie'// He shuddered. //Just keep her away from me//  
  
An idea popped into my head. /You sound as though you're afraid of her/ I accused, trying not to laugh aloud.  
  
//I am not// Ragnarok replied frostily, sounding majorly affronted. //I am just unused to the aura of . happiness that she radiates. Does she have to be so cheerful?// He actually sounded plaintive.  
  
/It's just her way/  
  
//Can't she change it?//  
  
/As much as I might wish I could say otherwise, I don't think that she will/  
  
  
  
  
  
Ragnarok and Dart seem to have some different opinions about what happened to Rose. Wonder what's gonna happen to Dart?  
  
. This chapter was kind of dark, but hang on until next chapter. Things are gonna start getting fun. I have a feeling that it's going to be a longer one. I'll try and have it up sometime next week, but no guarantees.  
  
Reviews are majorly appreciated! 


	7. Moon Child

Disclaimer: **beats the disclaimer into a bloody pulp with her mallet** ^_____^ I've always wanted to do that.  
  
Quick note: Keep in mind what the 'horses' in dragoon look like. Not exactly what we're used to.  
  
**Dream sequence** ************************************************************************ Dart's POV:  
  
Ulara is one of the most beautiful places in the world, but even beauty cannot mask its grim purpose for long. Built all of those thousands of years ago as a haven for winglies opposed to Dictator Melbu's rule, over the years it had evolved into the lone fortress standing against the Moon Child. It's not a fortress in the normal sense of the word; the fortresses we're used to seeing have tall battlements and towers and other instruments of war. Ulara, sealed within its boundaries of wingly magic, has none of these. Built in the Death Frontier amidst sun baked sand dunes and tall featureless crags, it maintains a silent vigil over the world: here, no war has been forgotten, the mistakes and triumphs of the humans and the winglies are noted and remembered. Ulara uses this knowledge in attempt to counter the coming of the Moon Children. Caron explained it to me once: If nothing is forgotten, then nothing can be lost. And because of the magic the winglies of Ulara are able to generate from this, anything can be found. And once the Moon Child is found, they send in their only true weapon for the task of obliteration. The Black Monster.  
  
At first the time passing seems almost tedious, but soon night and day blend into one endless blur. Laying beside one of the many streams and rivers that flowed about the base of the city, one could fall asleep one day and wake up a week later without noticing the passage of the time. Not that you'd miss out on a lot. On the upside of things, I didn't have to worry about Ragnarok getting bored and using me to destroy something while I slept. I guess the prospect of Charle swooping down on him and dragging him off to some luncheon was too much for him to bear.  
  
Nights usually brought sleep for me, but for some reason, tonight I was restless. Walking back and forth between the rose gardens and the teleporting devices, I tried to shake off the feeling of foreboding that seemed to follow me around like a dark cloud. I tried to check with Ragnarok, but he was occupied with some minor thought or another in the back of my mind. Finally I just gave up and went to bed.  
  
** A storm had swept unexpectedly into the area overnight. Waves dashed themselves upon rocks as the wind screamed through the cracks and crevasses of the jagged cliffs around the island village. The storm waters, unstoppable and destructive as a flow of lava, had driven the residents of the small sea platforms into the village hall on dry land. They crouched around a small fire, casting frightened glances at the warriors lining the walls. Tall and forbidding, they were dressed in an odd black armor. Steel helmets rested upon their heads, surmounted by a twisted piece of metal that swept down to protect the face. Spiked shoulder guards were strapped to chain mail vests; the bare arms were vacant of protection save a pair of blackened gauntlets. Grieves protected their shins and knees, the tops once more sweeping inexplicably up into long, dangerous looking spikes. Armed with short, broad bladed battle spears, the warriors stood motionlessly, a dark promise to the villagers of the terrible violence that would erupt should anyone object to their presence.  
  
At the end of the hall there was a closed door guarded by an armored man a full foot taller than the rest. Instead of a spear he carried a set of long dirks at his sides, their polished stone hilts gleaming dully in the guttering torchlight. A long pike rested against the wall beside him, but it was clear that should it come to a fight he would most likely rely upon the knives. He stood with his head bowed, all but blocking the door from sight. From behind the door could be heard the hoarse cries of a woman in labor.  
  
For the longest time no one moved; the cries had continued for the past several hours. Then, after what seemed an eternity, they stopped. A few minutes later the hulking warrior moved aside and the door opened. An emaciated old man wearing a long white robe trimmed with black stepped forward, holding in his arms a ragged bundle of stained white cloth. Eyes burning with fanatical light, he held up the bundle, for all to see. "On your knees, servants of the faith, " he keened, "For the holy Moon Child has come at last to purge this world of the unholy ones whose sins and misdoings stain the purity of Soa's great will!"  
  
As one man, the warriors dropped to their knees, the sound of their muttered praise for the child swelling and filling the room until the air its self seemed to reverberate with the muted song.  
  
Turning to the villagers crouched in the center of the room, the old man held out the newborn. "Bow before the power of the Moon Child! " He shrilled. And once more the people bowed down, their eyes beginning to gleam with fanatical light. All of them bowed, except for one. A figure cloaked and hooded in a coarse black robe remained on its feet, staring back at the screaming old man, unperturbed.  
  
Flecks of spittle flying from his mouth in rage, the old priest demanded to know why the figure did not bow down like the rest of them.  
  
"Why should I?" Pushing back the hood, the stranger regarded the old priest coolly. "Why should I bow before what I would destroy? It is not fitting for the hunter to bow before his prey, nor for the eagle to cower in fear before a mouse." He stepped forward, still unconcerned.  
  
"Monstrous!" He gasped, in response to the apparition's insolence. At a wave of his hand the warriors began to close in on the youth.  
  
The stranger laughed quietly then, the sound stopping the men in their tracks. "Prepare for my coming, old one, if you can. Be grateful for that warning and nothing else. For I swear, you and your brethren shall burn in my black fire."  
  
Enraged by the taunt, the priest tore pulled back the cloth from the body of the infant. "Is that so," He screamed, and lifted the squalling child so that the stranger could see its face. "Behold, monster, the face of your destroyer!"  
  
And though it was but a dream, the moment Dart's eyes fell upon the Moon Child, pain exploded into his head, scrambling his thoughts and jarring him into wakefulness**  
  
I sat bolt upright, breathing heavily. /What the hell was that?/ I demanded.  
  
//The Moon Child was born// Ragnarok replied tersely. //Hurry up and get a move on. The Charle already knows; she'll be along in a moment to get you//  
  
I hurriedly pulled on my shirt. /How did you do that?/  
  
//Do what?//  
  
/The apparition. Was it really there, or did I dream it?/  
  
//Oh, that. It's an old trick. Yes, they really saw it//  
  
/Why did you warn them?/  
  
//Because I couldn't stand the look on that petty bastard's face. Besides, people get careless while they're nervous. This priest will probably gather most of the cult's forces to try and stop us. If we're lucky we can take them all out at once//  
  
I was fastening on my sword belt when Charle arrived. She waited patiently as I strapped on the carrier belt and threw on my coat. When I was ready she wordlessly led me out of my quarters and down the walkways to the large teleport.  
  
Caron waited there with a group of solemn looking winglies. Stepping onto the teleport and hearing it begin to rev up, I turned to face them.  
  
Caron stepped forward and clasped my hand. "The child was born a few hours ago in the village of Lidiera, Illisa Bay. They should still be in the village hall, unless they've anticipated your coming. If so, check the island s nearby and the sea around it. There are a fair amount of cult members with the Child, so they shouldn't be too hard to spot." Caron paused for a moment, then handed me a Down Burst. "That should come in useful. Good luck Dart. I think you're going to need it."  
  
She stepped back to join the others. I saw them standing together for a moment, watching me gravely, before the wining of the teleport grew to a roar and everything disappeared in a flash of green light.  
  
When I finally came to a stop I found myself staring at the massive sandstone structures of the Home of the Gigantos. Huge monolithic statues lined the road, keeping their silent vigil over the ruins of what at one point must have been one of the most incredible non-wingly structures in the known world. After the fall of the Giganto civilization it had been used as many things; a bandit's hideout, a Tiberoian outpost, and, most recently it seemed, an attraction for a few young idiots that wanted to go on some vague quest of some sort.  
  
The 'questors' sat around a small campfire amid a circle of tents, chatting brainlessly. They looked like typical travelers; they wore long cloaks over dark tunics covered by steel plate armor. A few had light rapiers slung at their sides; one fellow older than the rest leaned on a long throwing javelin. None of them could have been much more than nineteen or so. Behind them, almost invisible outside the range of the firelight, could be seen the faint outline of horses grazing on the meager grass.  
  
//One of those horses could save us some time// Ragnarok mused. //If we cut across country to the north we should come to Illisa Bay. It's only a short flight to Lidiera from there// He paused a moment, trying to deciding what to do. //Go ask for one of their horses. Be rather direct about it. We don't have a lot of time, and it looks as though these wannabes may try something otherwise//  
  
Taking Ragnarok's advice, I walked into the circle of tents and wordlessly sat down across the fire from the group. Startled, they went silent. We stared at each other for a moment before the man with the javelin cleared his throat nervously and spoke up. "Can we help you, stranger?"  
  
"I need one of your horses." No point in avoiding the topic.  
  
The man's face clouded slightly, and he shook his head. "Sorry mister, but-"  
  
"I don't quite think you get the point. I'm not asking you," I said, pushing back my coat and resting my hand on the hilt of my sword.  
  
"Aaron, I think he's serious," One of the other men whispered to the man with the javelin. It's funny how people always whisper in situations when everything's quiet. It's pointless, seeing as it's almost as audible as when you speak aloud.  
  
"I know that," Aaron snapped back. He gripped the haft of his weapon tightly, coming to a decision. He got to his feet and took a step forward. "I don't think we'll let you have the horse," he declared firmly. " I don't like your attitude." He nodded to his companions and they too rose to their feet.  
  
I remained sitting where I was. "I think you'll like my attitude much less if you don't give me a horse." With a few barely detectable movements, I unclipped my sword from the steel clasp that held the bare blade at my side.  
  
"You're outnumbered," Aaron pointed out. "We can have our blades in your guts before you move." He sounded quite confident about that. To emphasize his words, he lowered the javelin so that it was level with my chest.  
  
Ragnarok made several suggestions of what to do. Choosing the easiest, I rolled to my feet and slashed upward with my sword, cleaving the javelin in half just below the iron tip. Spinning around, I knocked rapiers out of the hands of the two men closest to me and jumped backwards to put space between the startled looking people and myself. "Guess what? I moved."  
  
Aaron stared dumbfounded at the broken weapon in his hand. "H-how did you. that's impossible!"  
  
"If there's one thing during my life I've learned kid, it's that nothing is impossible." I clipped the sword back onto the sword belt. "Now," I stated, "are you going to show me this horse, or do I have to repeat that little exercise?"  
  
Aaron's face blanched and he nodded hurriedly. "N-no sir. The h- horses are this w-way."  
  
"Sensible kid."  
  
//Nicely done//  
  
/I thought so myself/  
  
Muttering quietly to himself, Aaron slowly approached one of the beasts and caught it. Slipping off its halter, he shoved the bit in its mouth and fastened the bridle so that it rested over the ears. The animal tossed its head slightly as the girth on the heavy saddle was tightened, but otherwise stood quietly. Pulling the reins over its head, Aaron led it over.  
  
He handed me the reins. "You should be okay with this one. She can be a bit of a handful, but she should be fast enough for whatever the hell you're going to do." He shot a dark glance in my direction, but said nothing.  
  
I pulled myself into the saddle and took up the reins. "My thanks," I muttered. "And a word of advice to you, kid. Take your friends and get out of here; this place is way too dangerous for people of your level of fighting experience. Besides," I added, half turning in the saddle, "This was a holy place to the Gigantos. It should be preserved, not torn apart by fortune hunters like you." Turning away, I nudged my horse's sides with my heels. Eager to run, the mare moved off immediately. "You know, you're going to end up locked in a prison one of these days!" Aaron shouted at my retreating form.  
  
"Already been done," I called back. Feeling the pull on the reins, I let the mare slip into a slow canter. Dust swirled lazily in our wake, floating on the light night breeze. Overhead a few clouds drifted across the moon, causing the faint light to fade into darkness momentarily. Far off to the north, over the mountains, could be seen the telltale thunderheads that marked the beginning of the storm that was currently ravaging Illisa Bay. Face set, I settled in for a long ride. If I rode hard, we should be able to reach the foot of the mountain range by sun up. If all went well it would only be a few hours flight to Lidiera.  
  
The dusky rose of dawn had begun to spread across the sky when I finally pulled my sweating mare to a halt. Dismounting and leading her away from the wasteland into a narrow band of trees, I removed the saddle and bridle. Tossing them carelessly on the ground I looked over at the mare, which was watching me curiously.  
  
"Go on, get out of here."  
  
She didn't move, but instead reached down to graze on the few wisps of grass growing about her feet. Flicking one ear, she snorted.  
  
"Fine then. Stay here." Bowing my head, I reached with my mind for the fist-sized stone buried in my chest. It flared brightly in response, the glow clearly visible through my chest. The glow spread rapidly over my arms, legs, and torso, consolidating quickly into the silver-gray armor of the Divine Dragoon. Six wings sprouted in unison, beating in a slow rhythm even before they were finished forming. Last of all came the stone-studded headband, the largest of the stones sliding down to cover my own left eye.  
  
When the light faded the mare was nowhere to be seen, but her path of retreat was clearly visible through the trail of smashed and broken branches and shrubs leading deeper into the forest.  
  
Over the water it was rough flying. The storm's winds gusted and blew in conflicting directions, creating sudden air pockets or hitting so suddenly from one side or another that I was almost knocked out of the sky. Lightning danced across the seat of the clouds and forked downward to try and catch the mast of whatever unlucky ship was sailing below. The ships, already having to deal with the gigantic waves, were sitting ducks. More than once I was sure I saw one take flame or explode. Once I caught sight of a mast slowly sinking below the waves. That so many ships would be caught out in this storm was strange. Usually sailors can see a storm coming days in advance. One or two might be caught in it, but not whole fleets like I was seeing now. For this storm to have come on so suddenly meant only one thing: it couldn't be natural. Already the birth of the Moon Child was disturbing the events of the world.  
  
Finally the island of Lidiera came into sight, a dark smudge low on the horizon at first, then growing in size until the small houses of the village could be seen, huddled together as the waves battered and broke upon their wooden walls. More than a few, I saw, had collapsed inwards under the force of the breakers.  
  
Back from the shore, protected from the waters by a curtain of trees, stood the village hall. It was dark, save for one candle guttering in a back room. Surrounding the building where the soldiers, their strange black armor glistening wetly in the faint daylight. They had obviously made an effort to hide themselves, but they were still clearly visible. Landing on the muddy ground and leveling my cannon with the group nearest to me, I make a point of proving to them that they were not as invisible as they might like to believe.  
  
There was a stretched moment of silence as the remainder of the soldiers stared at the smoking pit in the ground where their comrades had crouched a moment ago. Then with a colossal roar, they attacked. For a brief moment I was reminded of the fight in the dark streets of Fletz all those years ago. The faces of these soldiers had the same mindless fanatic look; they rushed forward into the fight without any concern as to their personal safety. If it weren't for the width of the battlefield, I might have had some problems.  
  
Note that I said might. The only real danger would be if the managed to surround me, but I couldn't see that happening.  
  
Raising the cannon again, I let off two quick blasts before the fanatics closed in on me, cutting long swathes through their disordered ranks. They recovered quickly, lunging forward as one man. Coming forward to meet them, I was vaguely aware of Ragnarok's war cry escaping through my own mouth. Red sheets of mist fell across my eyes as battle madness set in. And this time, I made no move to control it.  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
Dart's mind slipped out of my touch as the feeling of total war consumed him. That was fine. He fought better when he didn't care about injury. Instead, it was my job to worry about injuries. The dragoon armor is effective against almost any type of weapon, but the barbed spearheads when a definite threat. Dart was doing a good job of taking out anything within a ten foot radius of him, but there was always a chance that one of the fighters would be able to get in close and stab him through a joint in the armor. From somewhere in the back, one of the soldiers had gotten his hands on a bow. While most of the arrows ricocheted harmlessly off the armor, one buried itself into Dart's sword arm. It snapped off against the shoulder guard as he took one particularly wide swipe but the head of the arrow remained stuck in his arm, weakening the sword arm ever so slightly.  
  
As the soldiers began to press in, I cursed to myself. In the heat of battle, Dart was only concentrating on swordplay, since he didn't have enough room to bring the cannon effectively into play. And now that they where so close in, he wasn't able to get off the ground and fly. For any other dragoon that wouldn't be a problem, but if you take away flight and the use of the cannon, you deprive the divine dragoon of his two most effective weapons.  
  
//Dart!// I yelled. No response. I tried again, more forcefully this time. //Dart, you have to snap out of it! You aren't going to win this by simply hacking people to pieces! There's too many of them! Listen to me! You have to get into the air so you can use the cannon//  
  
For a moment there was no response. Then one black armored man got in close enough to shove his spear through a gap in the armor and into Dart's leg. For the first time during the course of the entire battle, Dart screamed in pain. Dropping his sword, he hauled the spear out of his leg and returned it to its owner, via the man's chest. Stumbling back a step or two, he tossed a pale green container into the crowd.  
  
Caron's downburst sent the mass of soldiers sprawling, giving Dart time to get into the air. His leg gave him a bit of trouble, but in a moment he was hovering in the air above the battlefield and gathering energy for a spell.  
  
"Divine Dragon Ball!"  
  
After the smoke cleared very little was left alive. Though the weaker of the two cannon attacks, the divine dragon ball was still powerful and could attack in almost all directions at once. As Dart landed the only sounds to be heard were the pelting rain and the occasional rumble of thunder.  
  
//How's your leg?//  
  
/I'll live. Is the Moon Child still in that hall?/  
  
//I think so. Level the place//  
  
Obediently Dart lifted the cannon once more. Gathering power, he was almost ready to fire when a spell smashed into the side of the gun, knocking his shot askew. The bolt of energy shot harmlessly off, missing the top of the village hall by about twenty feet or so.  
  
//What was that?//  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. My confusion stemmed mostly from the fact that I had never seen the Dark Dragoon armor on a man before. It looked slightly bulkier than it had on Rose, covering more of the body and adding more protection to the shoulders. The man carried a long hooked pike in one hand and a long dirk in the other. A second dirk rode in an elaborate sheath at his waist. Recognizing the weapons, my thoughts wandered back to the dream I had had the night before. This was the man who had guarded the door to the back room. But how had he managed to get his hands on the darkness stone? The image of a cult member stealing Albert's stone in Fletz stole unbidden into my mind. Of course. If they'd stolen Albert's, why wouldn't they have gone after the others as well?  
  
//Dart, right now it doesn't matter how he got it. All we're concerned with is getting it back// Ragnarok snapped. He seemed no more pleased with this turn of events than I was. //If that cult has managed to get control of the other stones, we could be in for a rough time//  
  
He was right, of course. Turning to face the dragoon, I once again lifted the cannon to fire. The dragoon stared back unwaveringly at me, giving a sick half-smile when I was forced to fly because of the pain in my leg. The cannon glowed: energy was sucked up from the world around me, charging the massive weapon for one more act of destruction. The weapon cocked itself, the barrel opening up so that the blast would be able to pass through without difficulty.  
  
"Coward." The word stopped me dead in my tracks.  
  
"Coward," The dragoon repeated in a singsong voice. He smiled viciously at me. "What's the matter with you, monster? Are you afraid of the power of the dragoons? Is that why you seek to annihilate me before the fight has even begun?" He obviously didn't know what I was.  
  
I almost did fire then. His taunts meant nothing to me. But something held me back. He actually thought he was worthy of being a dragoon, that the armor he wore was rightfully his. For some reason, that offended me. The only true Dark Dragoon was Rose; anyone else wearing that armor would seem like a disgrace to her memory. Lowering my cannon, I raised my sword.  
  
/You want a fight, you bastard, come and get one!/  
  
In the instant I lowered my cannon the man lunged forward with his long pike extended in front of him, trying to drive it into my stomach. Catching the barbed tip of the pike on the end of my sword I flicked it aside. The other dragoon turned at the last instant to avoid my blade, slashing at my exposed shoulder with his dirk as he did so. Once he was behind me he spun about, trying to get at my back with his pike. I turned ponderously to meet him, letting my injured leg hang limp and useless.  
  
Seeing my weakness, the dragoon began to focus his attacks on my left side; thrusts at the leg and the area around the base of the cannon. I blocked his attacks as best I could with my sword, allowing the arm wielding it to seem weakened after each blow. In reality the arrowhead buried in it had only weakened it slightly, but I wasn't about to tell him that. Let him think that I was ponderous and slow, weakened by exhaustion and injury. I would be laughing over his dead body by the time this was over.  
  
I shook my head, momentarily loosing my concentration. Where had that thought come from?  
  
Taking advantage of my distraction, the dark man drove at my face with both dirks, catching me high on the right cheek. Blood streaming down over my face, I lunged after him.  
  
The next few moments were a blur; blades flashed as we thrust and parried, hacking away at each other as we each tried to find an opening. At last it seemed that my opponent had found one. With a yell of triumph, he hurled both dirks straight at the exposed area below my neck. The yell of triumph turned to one of despair as they ricocheted off my shoulder guard. Too close in for him to use his pike, he was a sitting duck.  
  
Dropping my sword, I grabbed him by the shoulder and twisted him around. Lashing out with my good leg, the talon-like claws set into the grieves tore through the armor, opening long gashes in his back and knocking him out of the air. He hit the wall of the village hall with a sickening thud and a scream. The thud had been from the impact. The scream was when an overhead beam from the roof fell across his legs, effectively pinning him to the spot.  
  
Twenty feet up, I once again lifted the cannon. And this time I didn't hesitate to fire.  
  
  
  
Well that was fun. Goes to prove that I shouldn't listen to Linkin Park while writing battle scenes. **shakes head** Oh well. Reviews are once again appreciated. 


	8. Wounds

Disclaimer: Dragoon belongs to Sony, not me. I thought I'd already established that fact. Grrr.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
When the light from the blast finally faded all that was left of the once solid village hall was a lump of molten building stone, hissing noisily as the cold rain touched its blistering surface. Mud squelched underfoot as I landed, careful not to put too much weight upon my damaged leg. With a glow my armor disappeared, leaving me standing breathlessly at the edge of the battlefield leaning on my sword. Once I caught my breath, I limped over to the general area the fanatic dragoon had been when I had leveled the building. If the blast hadn't destroyed it, the darkness stone should be around here somewhere.  
  
//The blast wouldn't so much as scratched it// Ragnarok confirmed. //It's been through a lot more than this many times before//  
  
I trusted his words, but I still let out an audible sigh of relief when I finally spotted it, half buried in the mud and ash. Picking it up and carefully wiping it off on the tattered hem of my coat, I examined it closely. It gleamed in the faint light, the reflections from a nearby fire dancing across its smoothly rounded surface. After all this time it remained perfect: not a chip or fracture to be seen. Giving it one final wipe with my coat, I placed it into its carrier next to the violet dragoon spirit. "Two down, five to go," I murmured to my self. Limping to the edge of the clearing, I pulled back the torn fabric of my pant leg to get a better look at the wound.  
  
Cursing, I began to unfasten my bandana. The gash ran from my hip to about halfway to my knee and had lanced through almost clear to the bone. How one of those soldiers had managed to wedge that much of a spear blade through a gap in the armor was beyond me. Making a pad out of the bandana, I pressed it hard against my leg to stop the bleeding and bound it there with a strip of fabric I tore from my shirt. There you go kids, first aid 101.  
  
//Why didn't you bring a healing potion?//  
  
/Because I'm an idiot, happy?/  
  
//Not really. We need to get to Fueno if you're going to be able to patch that thing up. Do you think you have the energy to fly?//  
  
/If I did, we wouldn't be here now/ I looked around. The rain was beginning to stop and the clouds where slowly moving on. When the sun finally came into view, I judged it to be mid-afternoon. Closing my eyes, I leaned back against a tree and slid to the ground. I'd only gotten a few hours of sleep in Ulara and the day's events were starting to take their toll. I knew I should get some rest, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had too many thoughts running through my head, and I needed some time to sort it all out.  
  
After the battle with Melbu Frahma, the Dark and Red-eye spirits had been lost. The last time we had seen them; Rose and my Dad had them as they flew on a final last-ditch kamikaze attempt to take out the god of destruction. We looked for them afterwards, to be sure, but we never found them. But apparently the cult had. This was the fact that bothered me. Dragoon spirits will come to those who are chosen for them, one way or another. Did this mean that the cult was meant to wield the power of the spirits? I put that notion out of my head almost as soon as I thought of it. No, that couldn't be right. The dragoon spirits had been created for the protection of the world, not it's destruction. But what if it was given to me in hopes that it would find its way to someone else? The implications of that were almost as disturbing as the last. Finding its way to a new owner would mean that the world would once more be in peril. And the most probable source of danger for the world was the return of the god of destruction.  
  
I opened my eyes again and watched the leaden waves breaking upon the shattered remnants of the houses and ocean terraces. As I watched, one particularly large wave struck the wooden base of a now non-existent house. Foam and water droplets flew everywhere, thrown away by the force of the impact. It was strange how things could fly so far from the source. Eleven thousand years ago winglies ruled the world with the power of the gods. In doing so, the sealed away the one god that could destroy the world and in doing so saving the world. And as humans struggled to free themselves from the tyrannical rule, my father destroyed the seal of the god, ending the winglies power. And in doing so he condemned the fates of his fiancé and his own son to protect the world from the blight he had unwittingly set loose upon it. The whole thing was so ironic that it made me want to break something. Preferably the neck of whoever started this whole cult business. I mulled over the whole thing a while longer before drifting off to a troubled sleep.  
  
I awoke a few hours later to Ragnarok's grumbling. /What's up?/  
  
//I can't see anything while you're asleep. Do you have any idea how annoying that is?//  
  
/Not really/  
  
//Obviously. Would you mind taking a look around? I have a feeling something's out there//  
  
I stared out at the ocean for a few moments, and then frowned. /There's something that could be a ship, but I keep loosing sight of it. Think that's what it is?/  
  
//I don't know. I can't see it if you're not looking at it properly// He waited while I located the tiny silhouette again. It dipped in and out of sight at first, but then became clearer as it drew in closer. //It's a ship alright// Ragnarok mused //But who sent it?//  
  
/I don't know. Are we going to wait around and find out?/  
  
//I don't think we have much choice. Just pretend that you're a tragic survivor of this massacre and they'll welcome you with open arms// He sounded smug.  
  
/And what if they suspect something?/ I asked.  
  
//Who would? Humans aren't supposed to be able to cause this much destruction single-handedly. Just tell them that you where a traveler who took cover here during the storm after your boat sprung a leak and happened to get caught up in this mess//  
  
The ship dropped anchor about a half-mile or so out. I guess that with the rocks surrounding the island, coupled with the high unpredictable waves, made it impossible to get in any closer. After what seemed a moment's indecision they launched a longboat carrying a couple of men. Despite the waves, or maybe because of them, the boat moved at a fair pace, slipping past the jagged rocks with little difficulty. I could see they were going to run into problems getting back out to the ship later, but they didn't seem too concerned about it. After dragging the boat above the tide line they paused to look around, dismay written on their weather beaten faces. One man took a half step forward, hand reaching out towards the ruined mess, then turned back to the longboat without a word and stood staring out at the ocean.  
  
/What should I do?/  
  
//Pretend to unconscious. If they're a search party, sooner or later one of them will notice you//  
  
I closed my eyes and let my head drop onto my chest. I was already pretty bloody and banged up as it was, so I didn't have to work much to make the act convincing. Letting my body go limp, I waited for one of the searchers to notice me. It didn't take too long.  
  
"Permel! I think this one's still breathing!" Rough hands heaved me into a sitting position and a moment later cold water splashed tentatively against my cheek. "Hey son, come on! Wake up!" I remained motionless, resisting the urge to grin. A little splash of water wouldn't wake up an unconscious person that easily. They'd have to try something else.  
  
As it turned out, the sailor's methods of bringing someone back to consciousness were brutally direct. The small splash on my cheek had just been a small prelude to the soaking I received a few moments later. I came up spluttering and trying to shake the salt water out of my hair, much to the amusement of the fellow who had just emptied the contents of his bucket over my head. Putting it down, he crouched next to me. "Steady on, just hold still a minute." Uncorking a bottle of a thick bluish substance, he pulled the hastily made bandage off my leg and poured the goo on it liberally. "That should do the job for now," he muttered. "At least 'till we let Harper get a look at you. Do you think you can stand?"  
  
I made a show of struggling to my feet, leaning on a tree for balance. I glanced at my leg. It shook a little, but other than that it seemed steady. Breathing through clenched teeth, I muttered a terse "I think so," and took a couple steps forward.  
  
//Don't you think that you're overdoing it just a bit?// Ragnarok asked bluntly.  
  
/Sorry if my acting skills aren't up to par, but I don't want to give them a reason to doubt me/ I replied, a little put out at his criticism.  
  
//Well cut back on it a little. Talk to them a bit. You don't have to be anti-social//  
  
"Hey! Are you okay?"  
  
I snapped my thoughts back to the sailor. He was watching me worriedly, as though he expected me to fall over at any moment. I shook my head. "Sorry?"  
  
"You just blanked out there for a moment mate," He told me. "It was strange."  
  
"I'm fine. I must have hit my head back there; I'm just having some trouble concentrating."  
  
The sailor looked unconvinced, but he let it pass. "My name's Will," he said changing the subject. "I'm a sailor on the ship Sea Hawk. Someone in Fueno reported seeing strange explosions in the area around the island this morning and we were sent out to investigate." Will shrugged. "I didn't see anything myself, but we came anyways."  
  
"I'm Kail," I told him, randomly selecting a name. "I was coming from Doneau when the storm came up and my boat started to take on water. I managed to make it to this village, but my boat didn't." I shuddered. "It doesn't look like a big swim when you're still in the boat, but once you're in the water, a hundred yards or so swimming with a sword on your back in waves like that is an eternity."  
  
"Between hell and high water," Will grumbled. "I'd say you made the wrong choice. What happened here?"  
  
By now the other sailors had given up searching and had gathered around to listen. Even the man by the water had left his post and stood to one side, looking suddenly interested.  
  
"I'm not entirely sure," I admitted. How was I going to explain this?  
  
//Bluff it. No one's around to really prove what you say is wrong//  
  
/Right/ I scratched the back of my head. "When the storm hit, most of the villagers had taken refuge the main hall. By the time I had arrived, most of the homes and terraces on the ocean had been destroyed by the wind and the waves. The village hall was the only thing left standing."  
  
"Where you the only traveler there?"  
  
/Should I tell them about the knights?/  
  
//I don't see why not. Just remember, you're supposed to be a sailor.//  
  
"Well? Where you?" Will seemed to think that I was about to black out again.  
  
"No, unfortunately." I shuddered. " There where a crew of knights there as well and they where like nothing I'd ever seen. Froze my blood solid, they did. All dressed in the strangest black armor I'd ever seen. I dunno why they were there mate, but I'd be willing to bet it was them who brought this hell upon us." I gestured at the blackened and burnt ground covering the clearing. "Anyway, the storm was just starting to let off this morning. I say 'starting' because I was still sure that at any moment the roof would collapse from the amount of rain that was coming down. I had started to doze off when there came these strange noises from outside. A couple of the soldiers went outside to check it out, but they didn't come back." I winced. "At least not in one piece. When the one fellow's head rolled past the door people started to panic."  
  
"Understandable," Muttered a tall rawboned man at the back of the crowd.  
  
I nodded in agreement. "I couldn't agree more. I would have been more than content to stay inside and let those soldiers fight, but they sort of forced me into it." I gave my sword a distasteful look. "It's a pretty thing to look at, but I'm not really an adept at swordplay. I inherited the thing from my late brother only recently and I carry it more out of respect for his memory than anything else. Anyhow, I never got a clear look at what was attacking us; the rain was coming down so hard that I couldn't see the feet in front of me, much something that was probably half the clearing away. I'd just gotten clear of the building when whatever it was that was attacking us leveled the place. The shockwave must have sent me into a tree or something because the last thing I remember is a lot of pain and pretty stars before I blacked out."  
  
The seamen stood silently for a few minutes, mutely digesting the lie I'd just fed them. Well it wasn't exactly a lie. I just told my story from someone else's view so that it would be easier for them to accept. And so that they wouldn't kill me on the spot.  
  
//Do you humans have to find justification for everything you do?//  
  
/We like to. It helps us to keep a clear conscious/  
  
//If I've learned anything about humans from you, it's that no one has a completely clear conscious//  
  
/You know what? The sad thing is that it's probably true/ I retrieved my sword from where it lay on the ground beside me and clipped it back onto my belt. The seamen had seemed to have reached the unspoken agreement that there was nothing more for them to do here and had begun to filter back to the longboat. Still limping, I followed them. Noticing this, Will turned to wait for me, one eyebrow raised, but said nothing. He did, however, force me to lean on him for support. Still concerned about my leg, I guess.  
  
The longboat was a solid thing, made of tar smeared oak and tightly caulked with old rope. Seating myself near the bow, out of the way of the rowers, I watched the shore recede as the sailors laboriously forced the craft through the high waves. My back and hair were soon soaked by spray and foam, but I ignored it. The sad man who had refused to take part in the search on shore sat despondently in the stern, staring back at the ruins of Lidiera. I leaned forwards to whisper a question in the nearest sailor's ear. "What's the matter with him?"  
  
The man looked confused for a moment, but followed my gaze. "Oh, you mean Embren. This was his hometown." The sailor went back to rowing.  
  
I felt a pang of guilt. Hardly more than a few hours after the attack and I could already see how this was going to effect people. Embren would spend the rest of his life in mourning. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the only one left from his village. At least I had known other people had survived when Neet was burned. Embren was alone.  
  
The Sea Hawk was a large cargo ship, the type that runs goods back and forth between Fueno and the outlying islands and villages in the area. Her captain was a large man with a ruddy face and a loud voice that would have been more at home on a parade ground than on the open sea. He greeted me roughly, and then sent me below deck with a man short balding man named Harper who said he was the ships doctor.  
  
The cabins below were not spacious, since this ship was made for carrying cargo and not passengers and cabins took up space. Nonetheless, Harper led me to one that was at least marginally comfortable. Nothing much: a narrow cot, a small table and a chair. Once we were both inside he shut the door firmly and pointed at the bed. "Sit."  
  
I did as he told me, watching as he unpacked the narrow black canvas bag that held the tools of his trade. Once he had laid the more painful looking apparatuses on the table where I could see them and wonder exactly what they were for, he turned his attention to my leg. Noting the remnants of the blue medicine that Will had poured on the wound earlier, he shook his head and grumbled about the incompetence of sailors world over. After rinsing off the cut he wiped a clear jelly over it before pinching the wound closed. With his free hand he rummaged through his bag, producing from it a curved needle and some dark thread. Setting the needlepoint into my skin, he started to stitch.  
  
"So what caused the wound?" Swish thunk. Swish thunk.  
  
"Spear," I muttered, not really paying attention. The sound of the needle pulling thread through my skin was rather distracting.  
  
Swish thunk.  
  
"You were unconscious when the others found you?"  
  
Swish thunk.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Swish thunk.  
  
"How were you knocked out? Do you remember?'  
  
Swish thunk.  
  
"Something knocked me into a tree after I came out of the village hall."  
  
Swish thunk.  
  
"Where you stabbed by the spear before or after you came out?" Will's eyes were intent.  
  
Swish thunk.  
  
Damn it. I'd made a mistake. "Before. Whoever stabbed me must have sent me into the tree as well. I can't remember clearly."  
  
Swish thunk.  
  
"Indeed." Harper cut the thread and tied it off. "You can go. Just put a healing potion on it later. It should seal up like nothing ever happened." He turned his back and began to place his unused instruments back into his bag.  
  
"I'm in your dept," he told him, opening the door to leave. I shook my head as he grunted in reply. He was on to me. He didn't know what I was, but he knew that my story didn't match up.  
  
I spent the remainder of the short voyage sitting in a sheltered area near the bow, listening to the conversation of a few idle sailors. For the most part they talked shop; how much their current cargo would earn them, the cost of the separate items, and what sort of value their smuggled cargo was. I had started to doze off when I heard the words Black Monster. Needless to say, that woke me up. Being careful to stay out of sight, I inched closer to the conversationalists.  
  
"You gotta be kidding me," One of the men was saying. "Embren actually believes all that crazy talk?"  
  
"Don't say that in front of him mate, 'es liable to gut yeh. Embren's a smart man, but listenin' to those priests does funny things to a mans head, no matter how smart 'e is.  
  
"I know, but the Black Monster? C'mon Marley, that's a little thin. He just wants an excuse to go after that kid we picked up."  
  
"I'm not sayin' that e's the Monster, but what if it really was the Black Monster that did it? You saw the village. Gone. Not even a win'lie could do that that fats."  
  
Wrong. Lloyd could have leveled that place almost as fast as I had. It just would have looked different. I started to listen some more, but by now their conversation had changed topics again. I leaned back, closing my eyes. It wasn't long until we reached Fueno, but right now I was willing to take any sort of rest time I could get. Leaving Ragnarok to watch for Embren, I drifted off to sleep.  
  
When the ship finally pulled up to the docks, the sun had disappeared from the sky. Thanking the captain for the ride, I walked down the ramp and into the slowly thinning crowd below. I rubbed my forehead. I felt strange not wearing my bandana, but by now it was so covered with blood that I doubted I would ever be able to clean it. Pushing those thoughts from my mind I headed for the inn, intent on getting some sleep.  
  
Fueno's streets become relatively deserted at night once you get away from the wharves. It wasn't difficult to notice the shadowy figure of Embren following me from a distance. Unbothered, I continued to the inn. He wouldn't try anything tonight if I stayed at the inn. If he was still following me in the morning I would just have to deal with him. Pushing open the door to the inn, I took one last glance down the street at my stalker before slipping inside. 


	9. Meru

Disclaimer: I don't own dragoon. I DO however own a funny little leprechaun that tells me to burn things.  
  
Dart only has the Darkness and the Violet spirits. The cultist that struck Albert down stole the Jade spirit, so Dart still has five left to find. That's my fault, because I made a typo the first time around and said four instead of five. It should be fixed by now. Gomen!  
  
  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
I hate waiting for dawn. That may sound strange coming from one such as myself, but it's true. While Dart sleeps his mind and body become open to me, but out of courtesy I will not use it without his consent. Therefore the gap in time between sunset and daybreak becomes indeterminable. More so than normal though was I irked by this fact. The problem of the sailor Embren bothered me. Dart reasoned that even if he were going to try something, he wouldn't try it in the inn because dead bodies and unpaid room fees attract too much attention. I conceded to his point; however I was still mistrustful. It is not prudent to allow enemies to roam free while one sleeps, and I argued with myself about whether or not it would be wise to do something about it.  
  
I touched Dart's mind briefly. Out like a light. The events of the last day and night had sapped away his strength all but completely and he still had not recovered. Absently I wondered how much sleep I should allow him. I would have preferred that we left this place before daylight and caught the next ship to Millie Seasue; that way we would be able to deal with both the sailor and be able to get away from the city with little or no questions asked. But it would be no good if Dart fell over the moment he got out of bed. I would just have to hope that he woke up early.  
  
I turned my thoughts back to the problem of the cult. I had been hoping that we'd have been lucky enough to have killed most of them with that attack on Lidiera, but it seemed that they had become more widespread during our seventy year absence while we were in Ulara. And if the talk of the sailors on the Sea Hawk had any truth to it, then the cult had members in this town, if not an entire chapter. That worried me. It wouldn't have been so bad if it had only been one or two people. We could eliminate the influence of the cult with relatively no disturbance at all. But people would start to notice if suddenly a large portion of their community was found slaughtered inside what passed for their place of worship. Destroying the entire chapter of the cult in Fueno would quite possibly class as one of the greatest works of my life as of yet, but Dart had something against mass murder. And while he had come a long way in the last hundred years or so, he still had too many mercies I had to do away with. He was a decent partner now, but I would prefer someone a little bit more ruthless. We would have to do a fair amount of things in the future that would classify as atrocious in his mind, and I didn't want moralities getting in my way.  
  
The cult still had five of the dragoon stones as well. Violet and darkness had been recovered, but I had a feeling that we would have to wrench the others from the dying grasp of the cultists. For some reason, the notion of doing that pleased me immensely. There's always a certain satisfaction involved when recovering something of value from a dead enemy, especially if you were the original owner in the first place.  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
I awoke in darkness a few hours before dawn. Ragnarok seemed anxious to get moving. I think that he thought my habit of oversleeping would cost him the opportunity for one of those back alley murders he enjoyed so much. At his urging, I dressed quickly and went downstairs. A sleepy-looking bar maid sat on a stool, talking quietly to the equally sleepy bar tender who was wiping off a large tarnished tankard. Without bothering to interrupt their conversation, I placed the remainder of my night's fees on the bar counter and left.  
  
Outside it was cold and clear, the moon above lighting the streets and white buildings of Fueno with a silvery luminescence. A chill breeze blew off the sea, teasing the fabric covers of outdoor shops and causing them to flutter in the breeze. I frowned as that same wind caught my hair, stirring it into a bigger mess than it had been previously. I really needed to get another bandana. Pulling my coat closer around myself I started towards the harbor, the leather soles of my boots making little noise on the cobbled stone street.  
  
The moonlight cast strange shadows in the streets, looming ominously from the corners of the buildings and in the depths of the narrow alleys in between. Ragnarok was unusually quiet as I walked, listening hard while I used my eyes. But despite this, the streets were silent and lifeless. In fact we were almost to the docks before anything happened at all.  
  
//Behind you! Now!//  
  
Without thinking I spun around, tearing my sword loose from its clasp on my belt and swung wide. The knife that had been thrown at my back deflected with a loud clang; it spun off harmlessly into the darkness, struck a wall, and fell to the stones with a clatter. Further up the street Embren stood staring at me in disbelief as he tried to form a plausible explanation as to how I could have known the knife was coming.  
  
"Your eyes look a little bit wild, my friend," I told him politely. "I don't advise trying that again." I turned my back and continued down the street, but didn't put away my sword. The sailor would do one of two things; see the danger of the situation and take the opportunity to escape, or loose his head and attack my unprotected back.  
  
Embren hesitated for a moment, but then pulled a heavy marlinespike from his belt and with a strangled cry lunged for my back. He was brought up short as I once again struck out with the flat of my blade, knocking him to the ground. Snarling, he rolled over but was prevented from getting up by the tip of my sword hovering an inch or so from his windpipe.  
  
"You don't get it do you? I don't want to kill you." I said the words in hopes of calming him, but my sword arm remained steady.  
  
"I'm sure," he spat furiously. "Did you say the same thing to my family before you burnt them, Monster? Or did you allow them to grovel on the ground before you and plead for mercy fist?" He clamped his mouth shut, glaring at me with eyes filled with an undeniable hatred. We remained that way for several minutes staring at one another, waiting for the other to back down.  
  
Eventually the stalemate was broken as the sound of a ship's bell in the distance announced it was preparing for departure. Without breaking eye contact with Embren I lowered my sword. "I'm afraid I leave you here, friend. I have a ship to catch."  
  
//WHAT?//  
  
I ignored Ragnarok's outburst and clipped my sword back into my belt. Embren watched me incredulously. "What? So that you can slaughter more people? So that more will suffer the fate of Lidiera? I'll be dead before I ever allow that to happen!" He rolled to his feet and slashed out with his marlinespike. Ducking under the sharp iron spike, I knocked aside his arm and punched him solidly in the face. His head snapped back and he dropped like a stone, blood streaming from his nose. Catching him before he could strike the ground, I dragged him into the shadow of a doorway and let him down in an unceremonious heap. I turned to leave but then thought the better of it. Groping in the pocket of my coat for a moment, I pulled out a flask of liquor I had picked up last night at the inn. Uncorking the flask, I splashed the strong smelling liquid down Embren's front with no particular finesse. Leaving a bit of the drink in the flask, I slipped it into his hand and stepped back to admire my handiwork. To any casual observer he would seem like nothing more than a common drunkard and the stench of alcohol would help to discredit any story he might try to tell about me.  
  
Ragnarok didn't approve of my answer to our problem with Embren. As far as he was concerned, the only way to leave someone behind without having to worry about them coming back to kill you later was to leave them dead in a gutter somewhere. Unfortunately, that was also his answer to many other of life's little problems. Normally he would have railed at me for doing something that he considered as stupid as this, but now he showed his displeasure with a frosty silence that actually chilled the back of my mind.  
  
At the docks I found a small ship, The Star of Donneau, making ready to leave. After a brief haggling session with the ship's captain as to the price for passage to Millie Seasue, I climbed the gangplank and took what was starting to become my habitual place at the bow. The ship cast off just as the first rosy fingers of dawn had begun to touch the eastern sky, tingeing the horizon a pale purple-gray. Riding the sluggish waves out of the cove, the ship slipped out of sight of land and into the vast expanse of Illisa Bay.  
  
The trip to Millie Seasue took considerably longer than the times I had ridden on the Queen Fury. Powered only by wind and sail, The Star of Donneau lacked the steam-powered engines of the larger warship. I guess the idea of using furnaces to power boats hadn't caught on yet. Or the means to build one at a reasonable cost had not yet been attained. Vaguely I wondered if the Queen Fury was still running, and if she was, if her Captain was as strange as Commodore Puller had been. I will admit that when I first met that man I was given a bad impression of seamen; since then I've found it necessary to revise my opinion quite often. Seamen aren't strange: Commodore Puller was.  
  
Three days after we left Fueno we sailed into port in Furni. As I followed the group of laughing sailors down the gangplank, I looked with some surprise at their waterfront. Where a hundred years ago there had been nothing but an empty space for placing unloaded cargo there was now a large outdoor market crowded with people. Performers and charlatans where everywhere demonstrating their skill with what appeared to be magic, but were really no more than sleight of hand tricks. Still, the children watching squealed with delight whenever someone made something disappear or appeared to pull a flower out of thin air.  
  
//There's winglies here// At some point in the voyage Ragnarok had started to speak to me again and was now making observations about the crowd every two minutes or so as I walked through.  
  
/That's good. I was starting to wonder if any of them aside from Meru and Gurahaha would come out of the forests/ I bent over to examine a length of black cloth being displayed on a wooden rack amid bowls of beads and silk sashes.  
  
//It seems that they have. Keep an eye out for cultists. They may be preaching around here somewhere// Ragnarok still seemed to be annoyed that he hadn't gotten his kill in lately. Fine by me. Killing a grief stricken man is one thing. Killing a raving fanatic out for my blood is a completely different story. I bought the cloth and looped it around my head once or twice. Satisfied that I had finally gotten back my bandana, I wove my way through the crowded marketplace towards an empty street. The waterways below where surprisingly devoid of boats; everybody seemed to be at the marketplace. I slipped into an alcove and leaned against a door to think for a moment. /We're here to try and stamp out this chapter of the cult, right?/  
  
//Yes//  
  
/How are we going to find them? It's not like they have a cathedral around here or anything/  
  
//They probably don't have any specific place of worship// He thought about it for a moment. //Just stand around and look religionless. Sooner or later one of them will try to come along and try to convince you to join them//  
  
/Is 'religionless' even a word?/  
  
//Of course not. I made it up//  
  
/Wow. I never knew dragons had such abilities with language/  
  
//Let it lie, Dart//  
  
/Fine/ I was trying to figure out how to look 'religionless' when the door behind me opened suddenly and a hand grabbed me by the shoulder, dragging me forcefully inside. Whoever it was spun me around and pushed me against a wall, hard. My head cracked painfully on the stones, causing stars to explode in my vision as I sank to the floor.  
  
"Was that more or less what you had in mind?" A man asked from somewhere above me. His voice tugged at the edge of my memory, as though I should know him.  
  
"Exactly! You did it perfectly Gurahah." Now there was a voice I would never forget. Shaking my head to clear my vision, I found myself staring full into Meru's beaming face. Her smile looked authentic, but the way she was holding her hammer suggested otherwise. Gurahah hovered in the background, red eyes watching me intently.  
  
"Meru, what are you doing here?" I groaned, touching the back of my head gingerly. It was sore, but there didn't seem to be any real damage.  
  
"Us? We came here for the festival. Why are you here?" Her tone was still deceptively cheery, but I noticed her grip tighten on the shaft of her hammer.  
  
"Just passing through." I tried to sound convincing, but I could see she didn't buy it. I climbed slowly to my feet and dusted off my coat. "I have some business to do anyway."  
  
"It wouldn't have anything to do with Lidiera, would it?" Gurahah's tone was neutral. I cursed inwardly. Had the word spread that fast?  
  
"The destruction of Lidiera wasn't my fault," I told them. Meru started to object, but I held up my hand. "If everything had gone well I could have just gone in and killed the Moon Child without having to resort to any further violence. But that damn cult chose to interfere. I didn't have much hope except to level the place."  
  
Meru and her husband exchanged glances. "D'ya mean that religious group that came out of Tiberoa about twenty years back?" Meru asked. "Run around in saintly white robes and proclaim Soa's love for us all in high-pitched voices? Try to convert anything that can stand up and breathe?"  
  
"Those are the priests. The rest just mill about shouting evangelical slogans."  
  
"They actually managed to get followers?" Gurahah's eyes narrowed. "I get the feeling that there's more to this story than you can tell us here." He turned to Meru. "We should go back to the forest anyhow. Your parents are going to start wondering what happened to us."  
  
Meru bit her lip, torn between her curiosity and her urge to brain me with her hammer. Her curiosity must have won out, because she finally lowered her hammer and stuck out her tongue at me. "You're just lucky I haven't heard any good stories lately," she growled, trying unsuccessfully to sound menacing. She glared at me for a moment then broke into a grin, unable to keep a straight face. "Just don't kill anyone one the way there, promise?"  
  
The Forest of the Winglies is one of the few remaining havens for winglies who do not wish to come into contact with humans. Since the seal to the forest may only be broken by a wingly, its residents were able to go the better part of the last eleven thousand years without being disturbed. Although inferior in comparison with the other wingly cities such as Ulara and Aglis, the magic found here is still like nothing humans have created as of yet.  
  
We sat at a table in a green lighted room that I guess belonged to Gurahah. I had finished relating my story to them and now they sat in silence staring very hard at the grains of wood in the tabletop. I will admit that I was nervous. I couldn't afford to be detained any longer if I was going to hunt down all the cult chapters before the appearance of the next Moon Child, and if they didn't believe me then there was going to be trouble. Finally, Meru reached for an apple sitting in a bowl in the center of the table. "So lemmie get this straight. You've been possessed for the past hundred and eight years or so by the Divine Dragon?"  
  
I flinched mentally and then nodded. People always had trouble digesting that part According to Ragnarok, it had taken him almost half an hour to convince Charle that it was not me talking, but him when he had first arrived in Ulara.  
  
//Let me explain. Gurahah has good sense; I should be able to bring him around//  
  
/Right/ I looked at Gurahah. "You don't believe me, do you."  
  
"It is a little bit thin, Dart." He actually sounded apologetic.  
  
I leaned forward. "Would you believe me if I were to prove it to you?"  
  
"I'll believe almost anything if it can be proven," the wingly replied, but I thought he still sounded doubtful.  
  
//Tell them to watch your eyes//  
  
/Why? Do they change?/  
  
//Enough. Now tell them//  
  
I dutifully repeated the message. Gurahah leaned forward to stare at my eyes intently. "All right then, now what?"  
  
I suddenly felt as though my awareness was shoved to the back of my mind. I could no longer control my body, but I still had access to my five senses. This must be where Ragnarok spent most of his time.  
  
Across the table Gurahah had jumped back slightly when the switch had taken place. He blinked several times, as though to clear his vision, but didn't seem to have any noticeable success.  
  
"Do you believe us now, Gurahah?" The voice that had come out of my mouth was not my own, but a low one with the slight undertone of something growling. Usually Ragnarok would disguise his voice so that it would sound like mine, but I guess that he had no reason for that now. "Or do you need some more proof? Would you like me to tell you in detail the events leading up to the first Dragon Campaign?"  
  
"That won't be necessary," Gurahah replied quickly, sounding a little faint.  
  
"Good. It's a rather tedious and involved story and I doubt you would enjoy several hours of boredom.  
  
At the mention of the word 'boredom', Meru shuddered. "You got that right." She leaned back in her chair. "Umm, is the real Dart in the house?"  
  
//That's a novel way to put it//  
  
I pushed Ragnarok back. "I'm right here," I told her. "Now do you believe me?"  
  
"Who wouldn't?"  
  
I could have given her a list of names, but thought the better of it. Instead I sat back and began to listen to Gurahah's narrative of the events of the past fifty years or so. I was glad that at least some of my friends where still around. It made me sad to hear it, but it seemed that both Miranda and Kongol had gone to their graves long ago. In a way, I was glad that I had been in Ulara at the time. If I had been around to witness their passing I think that I may have gone mad with grief. But although their deaths struck me in the heart, I was startled that I now felt little remorse for their passing. What is the death of a human to an immortal?  
  
I started. That wasn't right; where were these thoughts coming from? Kongol and Miranda had meant as much to me as any other friend I had ever had. Of course I felt sad they had gone. Their deaths meant nothing less than the deaths of Albert or Haschel or Shana. But it seemed to me that I did not feel it. There was no lump in my throat, no uncontrollable shaking of my limbs, no sick feeling in my stomach.  
  
But perhaps worst of all, there were no tears.  
  
  
  
Ooohh. are Dart's emotions starting to go down the tube as well? Poor guy, I think I'm ruining his life. Strange thing is, I'm enjoying every minute of it! Weird way of showing affection for your favorite characters, isn't it?  
  
R-E-V-I-E-W- R-E-V-I-E-W- R-E-V-I-E-W- R-E-V-I-E-W- R-E-V-I-E-W- R-E-V-I-E- W 


	10. Cygnets

Disclaimer: I don not own LOD, or any of the characters associated with it.  
  
Viridian Moon: Meru and Guraha are still alive because I'm operating on the idea that winglies have a much longer lifespan than humans do. They won't be around for the whole story, but I do have a few things for them to do before they go. Besides, I have this obsession with Guraha that resurfaces from time to time. I thought someone would notice the thing about having to kill all the people in the area when the Moon Child was born. I did remember the fact, but when Dart said that he was trying to make excuses more than anything.  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
I woke the next morning to Meru smacking me fiercely about the head with a pillow. "Up! Upupupupup! The Ancestor wants to talk to you!" She hopped down from her perch on the end of my bed, landing in a pirouette that would have been graceful had she not slipped and fallen at the end of the spin. Making a face, she climbed to her feet and brandished her pillow threateningly at me. "C'mon, get up! Now!"  
  
Yawning, I pushed back my sheets and climbed out of bed. If you can call wingly beds real beds. Sometimes I wonder about them: they're almost universally regarded as the most technically advanced race in all of Endiness, and they've yet to design a truly comfortable bed. I rubbed absently at my ribcage, touching the dark purple bruise left from when I had rolled onto a protruding piece of metal. /At least the beds in Ulara were moderately comfortable. I feel like I've been sleeping in a u-bend all night/  
  
//Quit complaining. You've gotten too soft//  
  
/Soft my ass. You don't have to sleep in this thing/ I glanced at the pod-shaped bed.  
  
//No, I don't// Ragnarok sounded rather smug about this fact. //Now get moving. The Ancestor and I haven't been on speaking terms for a while; I'd love to know why he suddenly became so sociable//  
  
/ "Haven't been on speaking terms for a while?" Ragnarok, how old is he?/  
  
//I'm not really sure you want to know that//  
  
Meru led me through the seemingly endless maze of passages and warp tunnels of the village, slowly making her way to the top chambers that traditionally belonged to the Ancestor. Crossing an open balcony, another wingly lifted me to the platform outside the Ancestor's home. Flying up after us, Meru withdrew her wings and grabbed me by the wrist, towing me forcefully inside. "I got him!" She announced triumphantly.  
  
Guraha was already there; he stood beside the ancient form of the Ancestor, head bowed and deep in conference. His eyes were serious, but he kept his voice low and level. When we entered he stopped speaking abruptly and straightened. With a nod to the ancestor he strode over to Meru, took her by the wrist and led her protesting from the room. I raised an eyebrow. "What was that all about?"  
  
"I was speaking with Guraha about certain matters that may have to be taken care of later. He isn't too fond of what he'll have to do, but he'll do it if I ask it of him." There was a flash, and the Ancestor appeared directly in front of me. "It involves the permanent removal of this 'Moon Cult' from the human city of Furni."  
  
"I won't argue with you on that point. That cult is seriously starting to piss me off. They almost ruined my job in Lidiera."  
  
The Ancestor smiled, almost sadly. "Is that what it truly is to you now? A job?"  
  
"That's as good a word as any."  
  
"Is it a job that you enjoy?" The Ancestor's eyes were suddenly intent.  
  
I opened my mouth to say 'no', but something held me back. In a very real way, my only real existence was on the battlefield. I lived to kill; nothing more. I realized with a shock that on some level I had actually reveled in the devastation I had wreaked on Lidiera. When blood flowed over my hands, when my muscles burned with fatigue and pain: that was how I knew that I was alive. I thrived upon the deaths of others.  
  
I shook my head hard. Again the thoughts that weren't my own had seeped unbidden into my mind. They couldn't have been my own; after what had happened at Neet I would never find even the slightest enjoyment in any of this death. I knew what the survivors where going through. The pain that comes with the loss of your hometown, your roots, is worse than being shot by a thousand arrows, simply because of the fact that you survived while others perished. The memories of Neet and the years following before I came to Seles and met Shana would keep me from ever deriving any pleasure from such destruction. And yet, in my mouth, all I could taste was blood.  
  
The Ancestor watched me closely for a moment longer, than straightened. His eyes grew flinty. "Ragnarok, could I speak to you privately for a moment?" In response to his question I was shoved aside to the back of my own mind, blind and deaf to what was happening around me, as Ragnarok took over.  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
"What do you want, Blano?"  
  
There was steel in the old wingly's voice as he spoke. "You have to stop forcing your mind on that young man. He's not prepared to deal with it."  
  
"He's been my host for a hundred years or so now. Of course he's ready. "  
  
"Then you're a fool. Don't you see? His mind is bearly compatible with your own as it is. Push his limits too far and he'll break."  
  
I laughed. "That's what I've been aiming for all along. Once he breaks, he'll be perfect for me. No sentimentalities, no moralities, nothing to get in my way."  
  
"You miss my point, Dragon. He'll never bend to your will, simply because it is not in his nature to do so. All you will accomplish is your own eventual destruction."  
  
I will admit that that got my attention. "What do you mean by that?" I snapped.  
  
Blano smiled thinly. "You must be losing your touch, divine one, if you didn't feel it. If you continue with your mind games then sooner or later he will lose his sanity. But more importantly, he'll know this before you do. And then not all the mind games in the world will stop him from ending his life."  
  
"I won't allow him to."  
  
"Do you really think you'll be able to stop him? Have you ever tried to compel him to act or not to act when he is in complete control of himself? I think you will find yourself unable to anything more than watch as he ends his misery. And then you'll go back to that stone for all eternity."  
  
"You're wrong. I can choose a new bearer," I said, but I was going out on a limb here. I had no idea if I could.  
  
Predictably, Blano answered my question. "You truly are a fool. He is the only one you will ever be able to share minds with. Any other being will die within a year or so of possessing you. As many conflicts or disagreements you two have, you will find that no one else who can bear the weight of your mind."  
  
"There must be another. There are millions of people out there, and millions more to come. Another will be born." I was bluffing, and I knew that Blano knew it.  
  
"No they won't. This was Soa's way of limiting your power, divine one. Dart is the only being that will ever be the least bit compatible with you. If you throw his life away, there will be no other that can survive." Blano's face was expressionless, his tone flat and cold. "Are you really willing to go back to that stone?"  
  
Of course I wasn't. Being incased in that stone was a fate worse than death and under no circumstances would I willingly go back to that inanimate hell. "All right," I growled, "but he'd better change his opinions some. All they do is get in the way."  
  
Blano sighed. "I guess that will have to do for now. At least if you stop forcing your emotions on him it'll keep his sanity intact. The world's resting very heavily on his shoulders about now Ragnarok, and if your own poisoned mind involves itself too much, everything will come crashing down."  
  
"I love you too, Blano." I told him sarcastically. "Was that what you wished to speak about, or do you want to talk to Dart?"  
  
"If he's ready, then yes."  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
//Dart?//  
  
/What?/  
  
//Are you all right to come out?//  
  
/I'm fine, but I wish you hadn't done that/ I paused, thinking for a moment. /Why did you do that anyways?/  
  
//Blano saw that you were having some trouble with your thoughts. He asked me to come out and we took care of it//  
  
/You're not telling me everything/ I accused.  
  
//You're right; I'm not. Why don't we leave it at that? Now talk to Blano//  
  
I sighed and resumed control of my body. Ragnarok wasn't going to tell me anything right now. The Ancestor still stood before me, watching me critically. When he seemed sure that I was fine, he nodded and returned to his seat at the end of the room. "Dart, how much do you know about the Moon that Never Sets?"  
  
That was a stupid question. During the campaign against my father and Lloyd the Moon had been underlying, if not central, to most of the quest. We had discovered more things about that damn place than Fester had learned in his entire lifetime of study. Most of the knowledge was of how things seemed on the surface of the Moon, but we still knew a fair amount about the Moon in astrological terms. "I know enough."  
  
"Good. Then could you tell me why the Moon has stayed in the sky, even though two Moon Children have already been born?"  
  
I hadn't thought of that. According to everything we had heard or learned, the Moon should have fallen from the sky the moment the Moon Child was born. Without the cygnets, nothing was preventing it from falling. " I don't know. Maybe it doesn't fall right away, or maybe the Child has to be recognized by the Moon first." I shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I'm assuming that the Moon doesn't fall right away, though. It stands to reason that there would be some delay."  
  
Blano rubbed his forehead. "So if that's true, whenever a Moon Child is born, you're working on a timed deadline. And we have no idea when the cutoff point is." He leaned back in his seat. "This cannot be allowed. We'll have to re-make the cygnets."  
  
"How're you going to do that? You said before that the power of the winglies is slowly fading. Do you have enough power to seal the Moon?"  
  
Blano rose. "We don't. You, however, do." He walked around to the far side of the room. "While our power is fading, because this power was never ours in the first place, the power of the dragons has never lost any of its potency. And of all the dragons, the Divine Dragon was the most powerful in terms of both magic and power. Ragnarok will be doing much of the actual work, but he will need someone to channel his power through. His own mind, though quite subtle, is still too forceful. He'll need you to do much of the work."  
  
/How is that going to work?/ I asked.  
  
//I'll show you when the time comes// Ragnarok's words were sure, but I thought I detected a hint of worry in his tone.  
  
/What's wrong?/  
  
//Nothing// He replied flatly. //Now listen to what Blano has to say. He'll not be saying this twice//  
  
Blano watched me a moment longer to make sure I was listening again before continuing. "We need to travel to Aglis. It has the equipment we need to create the cygnets themselves; it'll be up to you to cast the spells that seal the moon."  
  
"I take it you're sending someone along? To operate the equipment, I mean?"  
  
"Yes. Probably Guraha and a few of his friends. They work well enough with magic powered machines. If I let Ragnarok try it, he'd probably wreck the place."  
  
For some reason, that last statement seemed to make Ragnarok profoundly embarrassed.  
  
  
  
Argh! Short chapter! The next one's going to be longer, I promise. 


	11. Aglis

Disclaimer: ** a pile of ashes sits on the floor** Well folks, that's what's left of the disclaimer. Striker, I think Dart enjoyed the cookie, matches and lighter fluid a little too much.  
  
Dart: **waving around lighter** ^____^ Fire good!  
  
.0 I don't think you have to worry too much about him committing suicide.  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
Aglis had changed little since I had last been there a hundred or so years ago. Not that I had expected it to change: with the waterway closed, it was impossible for most people to enter in any way except via Zenebatos. And with the Law City of the Winglies hovering hundreds of feet above the remote mountains of northwestern Gloriano, that route was virtually impossible to reach without the aid of wings. Even for the winglies who accompanied me, the flight up to even the lowest levels of Zenebatos had been long and strenuous. Much to Ragnarok's vast displeasure, we found the city still fully functional; Meru had entertained herself by knocking the occasional Lapto off the narrow walkways and into open space to determine whether or not they could fly. She didn't stop until I pointed out that the security laptos were probably still functional as well, and that if they caught her they would probably seal her into a very dull and boring cell.  
  
After the chill winds that had constantly swept through Gloriano and Zenebatos, the warm, sea lavender scented air of Aglis was welcomed by all. While Meru and I waited, the rest of the winglies ranged about, staring in awe at the work of their ancestors. Humans are lucky; if we want to see our past and achievements, all we have to do is to look at our homes around us. For winglies, their accomplishments came and went thousands of years ago. Very few ever leave their seclusion and even less will ever see the great cities that are the only tangible monuments to the glory of their race in ages past.  
  
/It's kind of sad, isn't it?/  
  
//What's sad?//  
  
/Winglies had it all. Not counting the power and dominion they had over the other races of the world, I almost wish that they could have kept some of their technology. Look at them// I thought, following Guraha and a wingly called Demos with my eyes. //They're winglies, and up until now they've only ever heard stories of this place//  
  
//Wingly technology was directly related to their magic. When your father released the soul of the god of destruction, the majority of their magic went out the window. That was what allowed humans to triumph in the end. If they had kept their technology, they would have had to keep their magic, and that would mean that the races of this world would probably still be under their dominion. Things are better this way//  
  
Guraha had seen enough. He landed softly beside Meru and retracted his wings, shaking his head in wonder. "This city has more magic woven into it than I've ever seen in one place in my entire life," he marveled. "The power that would have been required just to create it." he trailed off, still shaking his head. "It's incredible," he said finally, having come up with no other words that could possibly have described the magic of Aglis.  
  
Meru seemed untouched by her husbands' amazement. She sat back, a small frown on her features. "Dart, what do you think happened to the monsters?"  
  
"What?" The question caught me off guard.  
  
"The monsters. Last time we were here they were so thick that you practically needed a drawn weapon at all times just to get from one teleporter to the next. But we haven't seen any sign of them since we arrived."  
  
Looking around, I realized that she was right. Aside from us, the city was devoid of life. "I wonder what happened to them?"  
  
"Maybe something scared them off," a female wingly suggested as she landed next to me. "Another monster or something like that."  
  
"Could be." Meru shrugged, then raised her voice so that the other winglies could hear. "C'mon everybody, enough looking around! We've got a lot to do, and at the rate you slowpokes are moving, it'll be next winter before we get anything done!"  
  
Reluctantly, one by one, the other winglies rejoined us on the platform. When Guraha was sure that everyone had returned, we started out again. It took us a while to find our way through the maze of teleporters, and more than once we found ourselves facing a dead end. The reflections from the water above and below us, softened by the tendrils of mist that rose lazily from the glass-like surface of the seawater underneath the platforms, caught in the silvery hair and garments of my companions. The resulting glow that seemed to emit from them gave me the eerie feeling that errant spirits surrounded me.  
  
As we passed through the rooms that had held the apparatus' that had been used during the creation of the psychedelic bomb and Moot, Meru seemed to be struggling with something. I knew what was on her mind: during our short stay here she had become rather attached to the various magical 'babies' that had worked here. Images of Buckle and Ruff flickered through my mind. I knew I should have felt sad, but once again I felt a momentary lapse in emotion. But this time it felt different than before: it wasn't that I didn't care about the creatures that had spent their lives in servitude to Saven; it was more so a detachment that made things easier to bear. I grieved for them, but it didn't affect me in the moment.  
  
As we neared the main chamber where Moot and the cygnet sphere had been kept, the quality of the air changed. It became heavier, more oppressive, and it lost its pleasant scent. The skin on the back of my neck tingled; there was magic in the air, but not like any magic I had ever felt before. It seemed almost ominous, somehow. /Something's wrong/  
  
//I feel it too//  
  
/What is it?/  
  
//I'm not sure// Ragnarok paused for a moment. //It's wingly magic, but it doesn't have a master. Keep your eyes open. Things could get a little bit rough in a moment or two// I was about to ask what he meant, when Erron, the wingly who had volunteered to scout ahead, came sprinting around the corner yelling a warning.  
  
"Get ready!"  
  
The moment the monster came into view, I knew that Ragnarok's warning of 'a little rough' was a gross understatement. Snarling and bellowing, the creature was easily the size of a small house. Dark spines grew from its back and long jagged fins projected from its sides. A long tail, tipped by a large razor-like tail fin, lashed angrily behind the beast as it charged forward on weak looking legs. Its head could have belonged to a fish of some sort, if you ignored the huge teeth protruding from the jutting lower jaw. It was a freak of nature, a hybrid of magic and some creature that had probably been fairly nasty to begin with.  
  
A fireball whistled past my head, so close that it singed the tips of one spike of hair, heading straight for the fish-beast. A few feet from the monster's face, however, it exploded as it struck and invisible barrier of some sort. I heard the other winglies behind me scrambling to get out of the way; following suit I dove off the platform. As I plummeted towards the water below, I closed my eyes and reached with my mind for the stone buried deep in my chest. My fall slowed, then stopped as the transformation completed itself. Flipping upright, I looked up at the walkway above me where a flash of pale blue light told me that Meru had taken the same course of action.  
  
I flew up to join her. "What do you make of this thing?"  
  
"It's ugly as hell."  
  
"Other than that?"  
  
"Not much. I don't think magic's going to be much help here." She swung her massive hammer tauntingly at the beast below us. It tried to rear up and snap at us, but it seemed that its hind legs were too weak to support its full weight on their own. "I think we're just going to have to use brute force."  
  
Guraha, hovering a few meters away, shook out a long mace and chain and spun it experimentally once or twice. "Better make up you minds about what to do," he called, "It's gonna attack!"  
  
He was right. Not being able to reach us with its teeth, it swung its tail at us instead, the heavy razor fin whistling through the air as it whipped toward Meru. She knocked it aside with a blow from her hammer as Guraha dove at the beast's head, mace humming menacingly in the air as he whirled it. Taking it in both hands at the last minute, he delivered a blow to the face of the beast just below its right eye. When the spiked head of the mace fell away a pulpy crater spilling dark green blood was left behind. With a movement almost too fast for the eye to follow, the monster's head swung about and caught Guraha with its horns, hurling the wingly through the air with a long bloody rent running down his side. Meru had flown around to the side of the monster; she pounded on its side, alternately dodging the beast's tail and breaking ribs.  
  
Discarding the idea of using my cannon outright. If normal magic was useless, then the dragon energy that my cannon used would probably be less effective than my blade. Feeling my blood begin to rush with the edges of battle madness, I smiled grimly and dove steeply at the creature's head. Rolling aside at the last moment to avoid the counter thrust from the horns, I drove my sword into the base of its short neck. I twisted the blade, making the wound as large as possible, then pulled it out and drove the tip of the cannon into the wound and began to gather energy for the shot. If the barrier only protected the outside of the beast, what would happen if I pulled off a shot with the mouth of the cannon actually inside of it?  
  
//Watch out!//  
  
Too late. Pain shot through my side as the monster's tail drove into my side, the long, spear-shaped fin sliding through a gap in my armor and cutting into my skin. Reflexively I tore my own blade from where it was buried in the monster's neck and swung hard at the tail, cutting the fin away from the rest of the tail before the creature could make the damage worse.  
  
With a roar that sounded more akin to a scream, the fish-beast whirled to face me, horns and teeth at the ready. Unable to move for the pain in my side, I stared at the monster that was about to destroy me. Oddly, I felt nothing but that particular detachment. Instead of being afraid, I studied the beast's face almost curiously. It roared once, flecks of blood and foam clinging to the fine dark scales that covered its face. I saw the blood running from the hole Guraha's weapon had smashed into its face. I saw the unthinking, murderous gleam in its flat, gold eyes. I watched it prepare to lunge forward in what could very well be a killing blow.  
  
And I watched as Guraha's mace and chain wrapped around one horn, jerking the head to the side and causing the thrust to miss me by no more than six inches or so.  
  
Meru's healing spell hit me a few moments later. The pain in my side eased, but the fin from the tail remained. Not that it mattered. I didn't have very far to go anyhow. Guraha held tight to the handle of his mace, straining to hold the monster's head in place. The beast swung its head back and forth, but the chain wrapped about its horn restricted its movement and it couldn't lower its head, leaving its weak chest exposed.  
  
//Do it quickly, Dart. You aren't going to get another chance// Ragnarok's tone was terse. //Quickly, now!//  
  
Dropping my sword I extended my cannon in front of me, bracing myself behind it in much the same way as I had seen Albert or Lavitz do when they had used their spears. With a yell, I lunged forward. Much to my surprise, the tip of the cannon sank easily into the narrow chest. For a moment I felt sorry for the creature, but the fin sticking out of my side wasn't about to let me ignore what this creature would do if it survived.  
  
The blast from the cannon tore through the monster's body, passing quite literally through one side and out the other. The beast stayed upright for a moment, swaying back and forth unsteadily on its feet. Then with a groan, it fell sideways off the platform and into the water with a sound comparable to that of a cliff collapsing into the ocean.  
  
Exhausted, I landed on the platform and allowed myself to fall to the tiled walkway, my armor disappearing with a flash. Meru and Guraha landed next to me and crouched at my side as one by one the other winglies landed. Guraha gripped the end of the fin protruding from my side and looked at me questioningly. I winced, then braced myself. "Go for it."  
  
I suppressed a string of curses when Guraha hauled the spike-like appendage from my side. Yes I know I've been through worse. That still doesn't change the fact that it hurts like hell.  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
Almost immediately after we had healed Dart, the party set out again. They seemed to think that there might be more of those magic hybrids hanging around. There weren't of course, but I didn't bother to correct them. They moved faster now, their attention not being so constantly drawn to the various wonders of the city. We passed swiftly through the next section of teleporters faster; Demos claimed that there was a pattern to which portals would eventually lead to the door on the other side. We finally came to a room with a large sealed door; beyond it was the room in which the cygnet sphere and Moot had been kept.  
  
Meru walked up to the door, brushing her fingertips across its carved and scarred surface. She shook her head. "It's still sealed by magic. We're not going to be able to get in this way."  
  
//Like hell we're not//  
  
/You know a way in?/ Dart sounded only mildly surprised.  
  
//Of course. Tell them that all we have to do to break the seal is cast a spell more powerful than the one that sealed the door// I would have thought that would be obvious. In terms of magic, it was always the more potent spell that won out. While Dart repeated what I had told him I reached out and 'touched' the magic surrounding the door with my mind. The spell wasn't that powerful actually; the main problem lie in the fact that the moist air of the city had caused the gears that moved the heavy door to rust so much that the rust held the gates in stasis as much as the spell itself. Even if I did remove the spell, it would still require an enormous amount of strength to open. Oh well. One obstacle at a time.  
  
//Dart, let me handle this//  
  
/Why?/  
  
//My mind might be too forceful for creating cygnet spheres, but there's nothing subtle about breaking doors open//  
  
Meru seemed to notice the shift of consciousness. "What do you want?" She asked, not really bothering to hide the distaste in her voice.  
  
"You were all complaining about the door, so I decided to help out a bit," I replied mildly. I wondered why she was acting so harshly towards me; it wasn't as though I had done anything especially mean to her in the last hundred years or so. There had been that fight on the Mountain of Mortal Dragon, but the thought that she would still be harboring a grudge after all this time was ridiculous.  
  
/I wouldn't put it past her/ Dart warned. /She's not always rational about things like this/  
  
//It's been more than a century Dart//  
  
/That doesn't mean a thing to her, Arkie/ I snarled back a retort, but my partner just laughed. /I don't think it's possible to do that to a human and still keep them alive/ He noted, /but I'll keep it in mind in case I ever catch up to whoever is in charge of that damned cult/  
  
Still steaming, I walked to the door and rested my hands against it. The very metal seemed to be alive with magic; whoever had worked the spell that had sealed this had known what they were doing. But time had begun to wear at the magic; the cracks that had formed in the spell over the years would make an easy target for the raw power of my own spell. Gathering my energy, I pushed tentatively against the wall of magic before throwing my entire will against it. I actually may have pushed too hard; when I looked up again not only had the wall of magic shattered, but also it seemed that the door its self had crumbled into sand. Glancing around, I saw the Guraha and his friend Maverick staring at me in something verging on awe.  
  
/Nice going, but wouldn't it have been easier just to have opened the door?/  
  
//All you said was that you wanted the door opened. You never said how// I pushed his mind back into control and watched as he plowed his way through the remains of the door into the room beyond. Or, as I should say, what remained of the room. Water streamed down from the shattered ceiling, splashing onto the stones of the broken walls below. The stones themselves had a scorched look to them, as though an impossibly hot fire had blasted them. The rest of the room also bore signs of an explosion: black marks on the stone floor, pieces of the walkway were missing, and a large crater was all that remained in the place where Dart's memory told me that the device named Moot at once been.  
  
//Where was the cygnet sphere located?//  
  
/In that indent near what's left of the far wall. Would it still be intact?/  
  
//I'd be amazed if it was//  
  
/Then why did we need to come here?/  
  
//This was where all the cygnet spheres were made. Guraha and the others are going to need all the help they can get to replicate them, and it's entirely possible that if we made them anywhere else they would fail//  
  
/I don't get it/  
  
//I didn't really expect you to. Magic like this gets rather complicated//  
  
A few days later Guraha and his companions produced the final fruit of their labors: four crystalline cygnets, each about the size of a child's head. Dart ran a hand over the nearest of them, feeling the chill of the smooth surface even through the thick leather of his fingerless gloves. Lifting one carefully from its holder, he held it up to the light and watched the faint purple rays of light dance about inside it. /Pretty/  
  
//They weren't made for decorations//  
  
Dart sat the orb down again. /I know. They're still interesting to look at though/ He sighed and glanced at the others who stood near the door. "Are they ready?"  
  
"Any time, Dart. We're all waiting with bated breath to see whether or not our toys will blow up in your face," Warren called.  
  
"Thanks for the re-assurement," he muttered. /How about you?/  
  
//Whenever you are//  
  
/What do I do?/  
  
//Focus on the spheres. We want to seal the moon; keep that idea firmly in mind. It won't be easy; you'll probably find yourself thinking thoughts that aren't your own//  
  
I felt him jump a little at that, but he covered it quickly. /Who's thoughts will they be?/  
  
//Mine, of course. Just focus on the spheres Dart. I'll make sure I let you go when it's over//  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
I was about to ask Ragnarok what he meant by "letting me go", but before I could ask, he started.  
  
I focused on the spheres like I was told, but it became increasingly difficult to do so. The power of the Divine Dragon flowed through my veins like a river overflowing its banks in flood season; so powerful was it that just channeling it into the cygnets sapped most of my strength. And, just as Ragnarok had promised, thoughts that weren't my own began to flit through my mind like errant birds. That was fine; they weren't quite as unsettling now that I knew that they didn't belong to me. But what I hadn't counted on where his memories.  
  
They flashed through my mind in no particular order or sequence. One moment I was soaring above the clouds on a cold winter wind; the next I was tearing hungrily into the flesh of my first kill, taloned feet scrabbling as I did so, trying to find purchase on the blood-soaked stones; then I was on a cliff above Deningrad, watching with satisfaction as the roof of the Crystal Palace shattered and fell onto the city below. The memories flashed my head, trying to take my mind away from the cygnets. And as the power flowing through me grew and the memories became more and more vivid, I slowly became aware of the fact that they were winning. I was drowning in a sea of thought.  
  
//Dart! Hang on! We're almost done!// Ragnarok was yelling to me, but his voice seemed both far away and painfully close at the same time.  
  
I tried to listen, but I didn't know how much longer I could focus on the cygnets. The memories pulled at my mind, and quite suddenly my own memories began to mix with Ragnarok's. Images of my parents and friends appeared suddenly amidst thoughts filled with blood and anger, my own tendencies towards humor and mercy clashed horribly against flashes of the body-ridden battlefields of the dragon campaign.  
  
The flow of power stopped but the memories kept coming, faster now. Images and memories from two completely different lives blended together until I couldn't distinguish mine from those of the ancient dragon whom shared my body. I opened my eyes and the world around me spun wildly out of control. I staggered forward a few steps, then fell to the floor. In my mouth I could taste blood; I must have bitten my tongue. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the cygnets in their holders, filled with what looked like swirling mist.  
  
/At least something went right/ Was my last thought before the world faded into darkness.  
  
  
  
Hmm. Arkie's mind seems to be a bit of a dangerous place, doesn't it? Remind me not to make any extended sojourns in there in the near future.  
  
I'm starting to have way too much fun writing this thing. If that's possible.  
  
Remember: I love reviews!! ^-^ 


	12. Explanations

Disclaimer: This is the last damn disclaimer I'm going to type up. This applies to the next X number of chapters in this story. I DON'T OWN LOD, OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. THE ORIGINAL IDEAS, PLOTS, ETC. ARE SPUN OUT OF THE FABRIC OF MY OWN DILLUSIONED MIND, AND THEREFORE ARE MY PROPERTY.  
  
Now that that's out of my system for good, on with the story!  
  
  
  
Guraha's POV:  
  
We returned to the Wingly Forest in jumps, using our combined power to take us from Zenebatos to Fort Miagrad, then to Kashua Glacier. There we rested briefly before making the final jump to the outskirts of the Evergreen Forest, landing amidst a group of startled hunters as we reappeared. After a rushed apology to the humans, we started off to the back of the forest, sending Demos ahead to inform the Ancestor of our return. I suppose we could have flown, but we didn't want to take any chances with the cygnets. Those of us carrying the crystal orbs were becoming increasingly paranoid of harming them in some way or another, and flight seemed like an excellent way to slip up and drop then on the stony ground. And of course, if we'd flown we would have had to leave Dart behind.  
  
Even though he'd regained consciousness prior to leaving Aglis, Dart seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. He followed quietly along at the back of the line with Meru, probably not even aware of the constant stream of chatter that poured from her mouth. Every so often he'd stumble and once he almost fell, but Meru had pulled him back to his feet without so much as a break in her one sided conversation. When she failed to get Dart's attention she directed questions to Ragnarok instead, trying rather desperately to get a response. But for all her effort, both dragoon and dragon remained silent.  
  
Finally exasperated by her stoic companion, she tossed her hands in the air and stomped up beside me, muttering curses to her self. "This is ridiculous. He doesn't speak, he doesn't look around; it's like talking to a dead man! What the hell's wrong with him?"  
  
"I wish I only knew. He's fine physically, but it's like someone reached into his mind and turned out the lights."  
  
"Tell me about it. Fifteen minutes of non-stop talking, and that dragon didn't once tell me to shut up. I even tried calling him 'Arkie'!" She swung her hammer, pursing her lips pensively. Twirling it about with one hand, she smacked a tree trunk with it; there was a yell from Demara as a clump of snow slipped off the shuddering branch and dropped onto her head. Ignoring the fuming wingly behind her, Meru eyed the head of her war hammer thoughtfully. "Think it would do anything if I belted him one with this?"  
  
I found that on some level I'd actually expected this question. After living with her for most of my life, I'd come to realize that this was her solution to almost everything: if it doesn't work, hit it with a hammer. And while she normally only ever applied this rule to items around the home, I knew from experience that she wasn't above using it on people on occasion. "Meru, I don't think the Ancestor would be very happy if we returned Dart to him with half of his face caved in. He wasn't too pleased when you tried to heal Bardel's toothache that way last time."  
  
She made a face and stuck out her tongue. "He shouldn't have complained so much then. Anyway, it shut him up."  
  
"Not for very long. He was noticeably quieter after his jaw healed though." I raked my hand through my hair, pushing it back from my eyes and glanced up at the sky. Almost sundown. Already the forest had begun to darken, the tall evergreens casting long shadows over the snowy ground. "About how far are we from the portal?"  
  
"It's a little ways down the path from this clearing."  
  
"Good. Is Dart still back there?"  
  
She glanced over her shoulder and winced. "That gotta hurt. Yup, he's back there, but he's not fairing too well in this light. I'd better go help him before he walks into a tree again." Giving her hammer one final flourish, she slung it over her shoulder and strutted to the back of the line. I followed her with my eyes for a moment, then set my sights to the narrow trail at the other end of the clearing. As we neared it the portal sprung to life, a glowing sluggish maelstrom of shimmering bluish green light suspended in the air between two large old pines.  
  
I stepped to one side and let Demos and the others pass through before me, watching as the swirling light swallowed them one by one. Dart paused momentarily before the portal, his eyes flickering in the light of the wingly magic. His muscles tensed, and for a moment I feared that he wouldn't step through. But my fears were groundless: a second later he relaxed and allowed Meru to lead him through. I glanced behind me at the now darkened woodland, shivering as a chill breeze whispered through the dense forest. Somewhere in the distance a wolf raised his voice to the skies, the melodious notes of his song both beautiful and haunting at the same time. As the sound faded, I smiled and shook my head. The woodland may be a fine home for a wolf, but it was no place for a wingly. As the wolf- song rose once more I plunged into the portal, letting the song of magic replace the heart wrenching sound of the lone wolf pouring his heart out to the oblivious moon in the sky above.  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
Magic.  
  
It swirled around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs and sealing my body into a paralysis that set my limbs afire with a sort of indefinable pain. Its heat seared through my mind and tore down whatever feeble defenses I had managed to erect, all the while burning away whatever it touched. It forced its way down my throat, like some obscene liquid, filling my lungs and stomach. I was dying. And I welcomed the oblivion that promised relief from this hellish pain.  
  
//Dart!//  
  
/Wha?/ Voices? It made sense that I'd be hearing voices. Voices are supposed to be there to comfort victims as they slip through deaths door.  
  
//Dart, listen to me! You have to snap out of this!//  
  
/Lemmie alone/ I slurred. This voice wasn't comforting; it was annoying. Why wouldn't it just let me die in peace? /Go 'way. I wanna die/  
  
//Dart, I don't care if you want to die. I'm not going to let you// The tone in the voice was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't remember why.  
  
/Wha d'ya me-/ I started to respond but was cut off as a blow sent my mind reeling. More pain shocked through my mind, making the magic's pain fade to almost nothingness in comparison . I tried to scream, but I couldn't seem to find a body to scream with. It was tearing me apart; at any moment I felt as though I'd explode-  
  
-And then I was lying on my back on the ground, staring up at the concerned faces of Meru and Guraha. The pain was gone, but I still felt horrible. Rolling onto my side I gave vent to a series of hacking coughs that felt as though they would tear my throat out. When I finished the ground was splattered with blood; a thin trickle of the stuff ran from the corner of my mouth down my chin. Wiping it off with my sleeve, I pushed myself into a sitting position.  
  
//Sorry about that//  
  
/Sorry!? You almost killed me, Ark!/  
  
//You were going to die anyway. Would you rather have had me let you go without trying anything?//  
  
I hated to admit it, but he had a point. /Not really, but couldn't you have had tried anything less painful?/  
  
//Not on short notice, no// Ragnarok's tone was slightly smug. //But you won't think about dying on me anymore, will you?//  
  
/Not if you're going to do that again, no/ I looked at Meru who was trying to get a clear view of my face. "Stop it, Meru. I'm fine." Waving her away, I climbed to my feet and stood, surprised to find my legs steady.  
  
Meru looked unconvinced, but to her credit she made no move to help me. "You sure?"  
  
"I'm fine," I repeated, a slight edge to my voice. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate her concern, but I hate it when people don't trust my judgement about my condition. It's my body, isn't it? I should know whether or not I can move around. "Can you teleport me to the Ancestor's chamber? We need to know what we're going to do with the cygnets now that we have them." I looked at Guraha. "Where are they?"  
  
Guraha fished around in the interior pockets of his robe for a moment, then produced a small sphere that emanated a faint golden glow. "I only have this one. Agailia, Demara, and Warren have the others: they left a few minutes ago to take them to the Ancestor." He handed the cygnet to me for inspection. "I think they turned out fairly well."  
  
Taking the sphere, I examined it closely. /Well?/  
  
//Wonderful. If the others turned out as well as this one, they'll hold back the Moon forever if need be//  
  
/Great/ I passed the cygnet back to Guraha. "Nice job. Ragnarok says they're perfect."  
  
//Nothing earthbound is perfect//  
  
I ignored that last comment and turned back to Meru. "Well? What are we waiting for? Let's go see Blano."  
  
She nodded and reached out, taking a firm hold on my arm. The world around me faded into a greenish haze and even though I couldn't see clearly I had the feeling that we were moving at a great speed. The back of my mind ached momentarily with a distant pain, and for a minute I feared that the event at the portal would repeat itself. But the pain grew no worse and we re-appeared in the Ancestor's chamber without further incident.  
  
Blano, as always, sat in his chair on a raised dais at the end of the room with the three remaining cygnets hovering in the air before him. Their soft glow filled the chamber with a multihued light; blues, silvers, and purples reflected off the walls in a myriad of dancing color. As we re-materialized in the center of the room, Guraha's cygnet lifted from his hands to float over to join the cluster and adding its soft golden glow the blend. Blano stared at the four orbs in silent contemplation, giving virtually no sign that he had noticed our arrival.  
  
Meru, unused to being ignored, shifted from foot to foot and cleared her throat anxiously. "Err, harrumph. Ancestor?"  
  
The ancient man started slightly then looked up at us with a slight smile on his lined face. "Hello Meru. I apologize for not coming to greet you upon your return, but the cult of the Moon Children has been keeping me quite busy the past few days since you left." Rising from his seat, the wingly seemed to flicker, and then re-appeared in front of us. "But you'll learn of that later. We have more pressing business at hand." With one hand Blano gestured at the glowing cygnets behind him. "We must separate and hide the cygnets. They cannot remain here much longer for their concentrated power is too great. Up until now they have been fine because their power has been muffled by Ragnarok and Dart's presence: were it not for them they would have detonated by now."  
  
"What do you mean?" Guraha asked, glancing nervously at the colors playing across the walls.  
  
"Cygnets have enormous magical power. If it isn't dampened in some way when one meets another object with equal power, such as another cygnet, the two items will resonate and explode. With all four here, the detonation would be catastrophic. Even now they are resonating, but the presence of their creators keeps them from exploding."  
  
"Why is that?" I asked, watching the pulsating glow of the nearest cygnet.  
  
"Being their creators, your combined power is enough to override each cygnet individually. Just being in the area is enough to neutralize their power because the potential of your own powers is so great. You see-" Blano paused for a moment, searching for the words he needed to voice his thoughts. "The cygnets all have equal power. If they meet and the flow of their magic is not hampered in any way, they will explode because of this equality. In magic, nothing should be equal, because no two people think in the same way, and so each magic produced by a person will be different. Equality goes against the laws of magic, and magic's laws are very strict. Objects of equal power are not allowed to exist and so when they meet they shall destroy each other.  
  
"However, the fact that they were created by two minds and one magic confuses the cygnets. Magic's laws do not take into account that two minds may inhabit one body, and so because of this the cygnets' magic has had to make some adaptations. Because Dart and Ragnarok's combined power is greater than their own, if they are within the area of any of the cygnets, the cygnet will be forced to neutralize until they are gone."  
  
/What does he mean by neutralize?/ I asked Ragnarok. I understood most of what the Ancestor was telling us, but there was something I didn't quite grasp.  
  
//They'll shut down, in a matter of speaking. The spell will become void while we're in the area//  
  
/But won't that release the Moon?/  
  
Ragnarok paused for a moment. //I don't think so// He told me finally. //One cygnet is all that is really needed to keep the Moon in the sky. The only reason there are four of them is so that we have a back up if one is destroyed. Neutralizing one won't be any danger. The only way I could see it becoming a problem is if there was only one left; then we wouldn't be able to even get close enough to protect it//  
  
/What if that happens?/  
  
//We'll just have to pray that it will never come to that//  
  
Blano glanced over at me irritably. "Would you mind letting the rest of us in on the conversation?"  
  
We were just discussing some possibilities, that's all," I told him mildly. He'd probably gone over the situation already, so I didn't see any point in repeating things he already knew. "So what are we going to do to separate them?"  
  
Blano scowled at me, or rather Ragnarok, for a moment before returning to his explanation. "We're going to have to hide the cygnets, obviously. Cities aren't safe for them anymore, after what happened to the last set of cygnets, so we'll have to use remote locations." He frowned for a moment. "The one exception to this will be Ulara. The winglies there have requested that they be allowed to be guardians of one."  
  
//Soa save us. Charle's going to paint the poor thing pink and name it fluffy//  
  
/Shhhhh!/ I told Ragnarok absently. "I don't see any problem with that," I spoke aloud. "Ulara is probably one of the safest places in Endiness."  
  
"I thought as much," Blano replied. "I'm going to send one cygnet to Ulara, but the rest will have to be hidden by you three." Turning to the cygnets, he lifted the blue one out of the air and handed it carefully to Meru. "Take this one to the Aquaria Coral Reef to the south of Fletz. Around low tide many places on the reef will break the water, if only for a short time. Over the years, one or two of these places have formed natural caves in the coral. Pick one and leave the cygnet there. You won't have a whole lot of time to do things, so be quick about it; those caves start to fill with water the moment the tide starts to come in."  
  
Turning to Guraha, he handed him the gold cygnet. "This one will go to the Mountain of Mortal Dragon. If you can reach the area where Ragnarok was sealed, that would be the ideal place to leave the cygnet."  
  
And then at last he turned to me, holding out the silver cygnet. "This one will go to the forgotten lands to the east," He told me quietly. "Humans do not often venture far into those places, so the deeper you take it the better. Ragnarok is familiar with the area, I believe, so there shouldn't be too many problems."  
  
//Let me talk for a bit// Ragnarok pushed my mind aside and slipped into control. "You do realize that we cannot leave these cygnets unguarded," he told Blano flatly.  
  
"I'm aware of that," Blano responded, "And if you'd allow me to finish then you'd see what I'm asking you to do." When he was sure Ragnarok wasn't going to continue, he continued. "If I remember correctly, after the dragon campaign the surviving dragons left Endiness and came to the forgotten lands. We need guardians for these cygnets." Blano looked directly at Ragnarok. "Though you may have lost your true form, you are still recognized as the Lord of Dragons, correct?"  
  
"I'd better be."  
  
"I thought as much." The Ancestor smiled thinly. "You'll leave the cygnet with the dragons, but you'll also have to convince a few dragons to come back to guard the rest of the cygnets."  
  
"Any specific types?"  
  
"I'm trusting your judgement on that, seeing as I don't know the first thing about dragon breeds and hierarchy." With a sigh, Blano lifted down the last cygnet. "We'd better leave now if we're to do this as quickly as possible. The cult has been stirring up some activity lately, so we cannot leave them long unattended." Blano nodded once more, then flashed out of sight as he began his journey to Ulara. Wordlessly the rest of us separated; Meru and Guraha taking the teleport to the lower levels, myself stepping onto the lift that would bring me to the top of the forest. Once the lift stopped I stepped out into the cold night, shuddering as the cold wind whipped about my frame. Hurriedly I activated my spirit and took off, heading southeast. Once I reached Tiberoa I'd have to turn east, but until then the cold north wind would be at my back, lending me speed.  
  
/Ragnarok?/  
  
//What?//  
  
/Do you think the dragons will listen to us?/  
  
//They should. You're a dragoon; the divine dragoon none the less. That should carry some weight, even if they no longer recognize my authority over them//  
  
/Why wouldn't they?/  
  
//I was defeated. That would be enough// He paused a second. //Of course, if they don't recognize me I'm going to have to re-establish my authority//  
  
/How do you that?/  
  
//Quite easily, actually. All I have to do is defeat their champion in battle//  
  
/You're joking, right?/  
  
Silence.  
  
/Damn you, Ragnarok/  
  
//I thought you might feel that way//  
  
  
  
Wheee! Christmas break! Candy! Nothing much to say, other than you can probably expect the next chapter to be up fairly soon. 


	13. Dragons

Dart's POV:  
  
The jagged peaks of the Forgotten Land flashed beneath me, an endless landscape of bleak gray stone and scraggly looking shrubbery. Every so often the monotony was broken by a fast running river, the white water crashing over rocks and rapids to spill over falls into deep black crevasses that gaped in the rock like great hungry mouths. From the air the land looked dead; the only signs of life were mice scurrying about in the sparse yellowed grass and the wicked looking birds in the sky above that hunted them.  
  
/Why did the dragons decide to come here?/  
  
//It's not all like this. There's actually forests further inland with enough wildlife to support them//  
  
/Wouldn't guess it from here/ Gaining altitude and sheering away from the slopes of the desolate mountain range, I increased my speed and headed inland. /Just keep heading east?/  
  
//Yes. Sooner or later someone's bound to notice us//  
  
/And then?/  
  
//We'll do as the situation dictates// He fell silent.  
  
As promised, the land changed gradually as we flew away from the mountain range. The soil became less rocky and long waving grass began to cover the hills. Occasionally low bluffs of trees would dot the landscape, their gnarled gray trunks twisting into awkward shapes and casting strange shadows on the yellowed grass. On the horizon could be seen a long dark green smudge, which I presumed to be the forest. Rivers, streams, and ponds dotted the landscape, becoming more and more frequent as we neared the dark forest. But I still hadn't seen any dragons. In fact, we were almost to the forest before we saw anyone at all.  
  
//We've been spotted// Ragnarok warned. //Down by that tree near the pile of rocks. There's a pseudo dragon down there//  
  
I struggled through my memory for a moment before I recalled Rose telling me that baby dragons were often referred to as 'pseudo dragons'. /Should I do anything about him?/  
  
//Why bother? We want to be seen, and all you'd do would be to agitate his mother// He fell silent, watching with me as the little dragon struggled over the rocks and began a sort of shuffling little run towards the forest. The dragon had no noticeable wings, and he ran on six narrow legs, giving him a distinctly insect appearance. I was vaguely reminded of the dragon Fyerbrand. //Land here. The dragons will come out shortly//  
  
/You done this before/  
  
//I've seen it done before. When I had my old body, no one really questioned my identity//  
  
/I can see why/ I landed in the shadows of the tree, letting the clawed feet of my armor sink into the earth. With a flash my armor de-activated, my spiritual power spent. Even though it was midday a thin layer of frost still crackled underfoot within the shadow of the tree. I was still a little disoriented from my stay in Ulara, and I wasn't quite sure whether winter had just ended here or whether it was getting ready to start.  
  
//It's just getting ready to start// Ragnarok's voice echoed through my mind. //The seasons here pass the same as they do in Millie Seasue// He was silent a moment, and then I felt him tense. //They're coming//  
  
I heard the dragons long before I saw them. From deep in the woods came thunderous crashes and heavy footsteps; occasionally one of the approaching dragons would roar. When they finally did appear I was astounded by the variety of species before me. Here and there I could see types that I could identify: there at the edge of the woods loomed a green tusked dragon and there, resting with the tip of its tail in a river, was a dragon that reminded me strongly of Regole. But the rest were a mystery to me.  
  
/Where are the dragons that the dragoon stones came from?/  
  
//Rythl, Kaze, Acrrea, and the others were unique. They were the only ones of their kind// Ragnarok said shortly.  
  
/How can they still be summoned?/  
  
//Their bodies still exist on the spirit plane. They may be summoned to this world if need be//  
  
From the midst of the hoard of dragons before us, one taller than the rest pushed forward. He had a long reptilian face with swept back horns that arched over the length of his short neck to tickle his heavy set shoulders. He had four legs, but he carried most of his weight over the front end of his body. The forelegs reminded me of tree stumps; short and thick, ending in gnarled and broken talons. Even with the weak and shriveled hindquarters, this dragon was a formidable sight.  
  
Within my mind, Ragnarok sighed. //That one is named Eire. A disease about twelve struck him thousand years ago that crippled him permanently in his hind legs. At one time he was the most powerful of the mountain breed. Now he wanders about forests, crippled and blind//  
  
/How does he survive?/  
  
//He is wise, and there are few dragons of his age and knowledge left in the world// Ragnarok said almost sadly. //He relies on the protection of the other dragons for survival. But, even though he is blind, his other senses are still sharp. He should recognize my mind//  
  
Eire halted in front of me and lowered his massive head. Now that he was so close I could see that he had no eyes; it seemed that he'd lost them in a fight long ago. Sniffing me once, he snorted and the blast of foul air almost knocked me off my feet. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. It took me a moment to realize that Eire had spoken: the language he used was harsh sounding in my ears, hardly discernable from a growl.  
  
/How the.?/ I started, but Ragnarok cut me off.  
  
//A little favor// He told me. //Call it a bit of instant translation//  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" Eire repeated. "What is a human doing in the realm of the dragons?"  
  
//Move over// Ragnarok commanded, probably more abruptly than he'd meant to. I was all too happy to oblige: One wrong move on my part and I was dragon chow. At least Ragnarok had some idea of what he was supposed to be doing. Letting my mind drift from control, I slipped to one side to watch. Ragnarok shuddered slightly as he took control, like a dog shaking away water from its fur. When he seemed sure he was completely in control, he spoke. "Your senses must have eroded away more than I had thought, old one. Try using your mind once in a while. You'll know who I am."  
  
Eire grunted, and I felt a mind brushing my own. It touched only briefly, then moved on to Ragnarok's. It paused for a moment, then snapped back to its owner. "Ragnarok," Eire stated the name as a fact rather than a question. "We thought you passed this world by a century or so ago."  
  
"It seems Soa isn't done with me yet."  
  
"Obviously," Eire swayed slightly as one of his hind legs buckled underneath him. "Is the other one with you the supposed 'partner' you tried so desperately to avoid?"  
  
"It would seem so," Ragnarok said, his tone betraying no hint of embarrassment.  
  
"Then fate has finally caught up with you, Divine One."  
  
"It happens to all of us from time to time. But I'm not here to discuss my current indisposition." He took a breath, then straightened. "I've come to enlist your aid, Eire. Or, more specifically, the aid of four dragons."  
  
"That sounded like a command, Ragnarok."  
  
"That's because it was one. I'm not giving you any other options." I wasn't surprised. Ragnarok may have been stuck in my human body, but that had never diminished his need for authority in any way. To the dragons, however, I thought that it must look ludicrous. I mean, by all appearances a human was trying to order them around. Never mind that the human was also a dragoon and the vessel for the Divine Dragon. All most of them would see was one tiny human.  
  
Apparently I was right. "YOU are not giving us any other options?" The speaker's tone was incredulous. "Listen Divine One, I hardly think you're in a position to be giving any of us orders."  
  
//Damn it// Ragnarok muttered. //This is what I was afraid of. The dragons are ruled over by the most powerful of their kind. The dragon that said that is probably trying to make a name for himself. He must think that if he defeats me he'll gain a reputation of power to make a bid at the position of the dragon lord//  
  
/Are we going to have to fight him?/  
  
//He'll bluster and yell insults for a bit, but that'll be the eventual product//  
  
/Why not just cut to the chase?/  
  
//I was hoping you'd suggest that// Ragnarok turned to face the speaker, a young bluish dragon that was surprisingly birdlike in appearance. "Is that a challenge?" he asked coolly.  
  
The dragon seemed surprised at Ragnarok's bluntness, and he fumbled to come up with a response. "I-I guess." he started, then he shook himself. "Yes." He stated firmly. "Your power is diminished, Divine One. You no longer even have a body to call your own. Defeated by humans! What kind of dragon lord were you supposed to be? You are unfit to rule over us, therefore I declare your order void."  
  
I swear, if it was possible to kill someone with a look, that dragon would have died three times over. The dragons nearby actually took a step or two away from us, glancing at each other uneasily. The bird-like dragon wavered, but held his ground. I have to hand it to him; that guy had guts. If Ragnarok had been looking at me like that I would have run screaming for the hills. "What's your name?" Ragnarok asked. His voice was hardly more than a whisper, but I was quite sure that every dragon in the clearing heard him. I'm not even sure if they were even breathing anymore, so total was the silence.  
  
"Ty-tygris," came the shaken reply.  
  
"Well Tygris, I'm going to do you a little service. Your comprehension of the words 'diminished' and 'power' when applied to myself seems a little shaky. Let me help you to redefine that." Ragnarok pulled his sword from my belt. "I'm going to give you a little demonstration of what I can do with my 'diminished power'. Just to teach you that you should find out more about your opponent before you start hurling around challenges." Ragnarok's tone was like ice.  
  
I had always thought that the only way to activate a dragoon stone was through spiritual power. In Ragnarok's case, extreme rage seemed to serve the same purpose. The cold stone burst into life, its glow clearly visible despite the fact that it rested within my chest. A low murmur that sounded more like a growl to my ears passed through the crowd as the image of the divine armor appeared, shimmering briefly in a myriad of shifting colors, before consolidating into the graven wings, cannon, and body of the Divine Dragoon. I was fairly sure they'd expected this, but their response was still gratifying.  
  
Flaring his wings, Tygris opened his narrow mouth to reveal several rows of short, needle-like teeth. Hissing loudly he kicked off hard against the ground, propelling himself into the air. He struggled for altitude for a moment, then leveled off about thirty or forty feet above the ground. Tygris wasn't a very large dragon, but he looked confidant once he was in the air. I hoped silently that Ragnarok knew what he was doing.  
  
//Of course I do// He snapped. //Do you think would I do this if I didn't?//  
  
I chose not to answer that.  
  
In spite of my initial reaction, it was clear that Ragnarok had the fight won before it really started. He had experience on his side and used it to his advantage every chance he got. And while he was smaller and less graceful looking than the bird-dragon, he managed to make Tygris seem slow and clumsy by comparison. I don't think he actually used a weapon on Tygris once. After slamming into him a few times at full speed, Ragnarok had managed to crack or break a fair amount of the dragon's ribcage. Tygris tried to keep up with the attacks, but the effort was wasted. Each time he struck he found only empty air where his target had been a split second before. And as the blows kept coming, the pain in his ribcage became too much to bear. Spiraling downward, Tygris landed heavily near the edge of the forest and slumped to the ground.  
  
Twenty feet above him, Ragnarok raised his cannon and leveled it at his fallen opponent. Drawing in energy with deliberate slowness, he cocked it and prepared to fire. One the ground below, Tygris, unable to move, closed his eyes and flattened his head against the ground.  
  
/Ragnarok! Don't-/  
  
At the last moment Ragnarok adjusted his aim. When the smoke and dust finally cleared Tygris was lying greatly shaken next to a crater that was large enough to hold a small house. Wings beating the air slowly, Ragnarok descended to the ground, landing a short distance away from the broken bird- dragon. Lifting the cannon, he touched the tip between Tygris's eyes and made as if to fire.  
  
/Ark, you're heartless you know that?/  
  
//Actually, if we're speaking in literal terms, we're both heartless// I detected no change in his mind, but he did lower the cannon.  
  
/You'll let him live?/  
  
//I'm going to see if he will survive// He replied in an emotionless tone. //Dragons who are injured this bad do not always live long enough to recover. Unless someone decides to help him, he'll have to fend for himself//  
  
/That's really low, you know that?/ I told him bluntly. /You know damn well that he won't survive on his own/  
  
//Maybe someone will help him//  
  
/Ark, you know no one will help him. That's why you're doing this/  
  
//Perhaps// He started to raise the cannon again.  
  
With a tremendous effort, I pushed him out of the way and took control again. /You're impossible when you're like this, you know that?/ I told him. Not waiting for an answer, I deactivated the armor and put up my sword. Walking over to Tygris, I reached down and tapped him lightly on the forehead. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He stared at me for a moment, then seemed to notice the change of control. A shudder passed through his body. "Is he going to kill me?" he asked.  
  
"Not today at least. He'd like to, but he's not going to." Aware that the dragons around the clearing where still watching us, I stepped over Tygris's head and walked around to his rib cage. I reached out to touch it, then paused. His side was a mess of bruises and broken scales, sagging inward in some areas and jutting out on awkward angles in others. The pain must have been incredible. Stepping in as close as I dared, I pulled a bottle of healing fog from the pouch on the side of my jacket and uncorked it. As I poured it carefully over the dragon's side, an idea slowly began to form in my mind. I almost discarded it at first, but I soon found the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.  
  
//You're not serious!// Ragnarok exclaimed, catching hold of the idea.  
  
/Of course I am. It's better than killing him/  
  
//He's hurt! Those injuries will take months to heal, assuming he lives past the first week. Evengil was the only dragon healer, Dart. He isn't going to get treated by them// /What do you think I'm doing now?/ I asked, pouring the remainder of the bottle onto Tygris's side. Even as I watched, the bruises began to disappear as the rib bones began to knit themselves back together.  
  
There was an incredulous silence, then Ragnarok began to swear sulfurously. His choices of words were wide ranging, and he often resorted to other languages when the obscenities of the common languages failed to completely express his feelings. I listened to his ranting calmly, ministering first to one of Tygris's broken hind legs, then to his other side. By the time Ragnarok had begun to repeat himself, I was finished and Tygris was gingerly getting to his feet.  
  
/Are you finished yet?/  
  
My question was greeted with a frosty silence.  
  
/I thought so/ I turned back to Tygris, who was stretching his wings experimentally. "I don't advise trying to piss him off again any time soon. He's quite put out with me for not letting him blast your carcass halfway to Serdio." I turned to face Eire. "He'll be coming with us."  
  
Eire looked at me gravely. "Are you sure of this?"  
  
"I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't." I looked around. We still needed three more dragons. "Who else could you spare?"  
  
Eire slumped to the ground, his legs unable to support him any longer. "What attributes do you have need of?"  
  
"Preferably water, fire, and earth, if there are any about."  
  
Eire paused to consider this for a moment. "Rasqul, Niern, and Maydalsk. They all should be serviceable. May I ask what they are needed for?"  
  
"We had to create new cygnets. We thought that it would be better if we had guardians for them this time. I really don't want to have to make any more of them. Using dragon magic in a human body is like being dragged through hell." I shook my head, remembering Aglis. "I definitely want to avoid having to do that again."  
  
This seemed to pique Eire's interest. "You were able to channel Ragnarok's power?"  
  
"Yeah. But like I said, hurts like hell."  
  
Eire paused to think a moment. "Tell me," He asked. "Did it hurt to actually channel the power, or might have it been another power that caused you harm?"  
  
I shrugged. "It might have been the wingly portal, but I'm not sure. I wasn't aware of much at the time."  
  
"I see," Eire said. "You're an interesting case, dragoon. If I happen to be alive the next time we meet, I hope you'll allow me to talk to you further."  
  
"I'll be sure to place myself at your connivance," I told him. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed three dragons gathered near Tygris. "If you'll excuse us, we had better get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I'd like to get this over with as quickly as possible."  
  
  
  
**Pats Arkie on the head** He's such a nice boy when he's pissed, isn't he? I'd keep him in my closet, but I don't think he'd appreciate that. Sorry it took so long. I know I said I'd have it up faster, but I didn't account for the fact that my main computer would crash repeatedly over Christmas. Oh well.  
  
R!E!V!I!E!W! P!L!E!A!S!E! 


	14. Bad Tidings

Dart's POV:  
  
//You know, I still don't agree with this// Ragnarok complained.  
  
/You've already said that about half-dozen times before we got started/ I tightened my hold on the crest of feathers at the base of Tygris's neck and tried somewhat desperately to keep my seat on the smooth scales of his back as we hit some turbulence. "Be more careful, would you?"  
  
"That's a little difficult," He called back. "The air currents around here are strange and I don't know when they're going to change from one moment to the next."  
  
We had left Niern and the silver cygnet behind in the Forgotten Lands two nights ago and had flown steadily southwest since. The cygnet was now concealed deep within a twisting maze of caves deep beneath a range of mountains that was far enough east that it would be off any map of the known world. Niern assured us that nobody who hadn't been born and raised in these caves as he had would find themselves hopelessly lost and would probably starve to death. Even if they did manage to find their way through to the gallery where the cygnet was hidden, they'd still have to face him. That was a reassuring thought. Niern reminded me of Eire: they both had the same overbuilt shoulders studded with short hooked horns, the same thick legs and gnarled talons, although Niern did not suffer from the same disease as his elder. I still was uncomfortable about leaving the cygnet behind, but Ragnarok assured me that there wasn't a dragon in the entire world better suited to guarding the cygnets.  
  
Like I said, that had been two nights ago. We were now over the ocean approaching the Aquarius Corel Reef where I prayed Meru was still waiting. I'd been gone for almost a week now, and a week is a very long time to wait. Meru may have aged, but her attitude hadn't changed one bit. If things got too dull she'd probably leave and try to convince some whales to take her water skiing.  
  
Maydalsk cut through the water below us, her smooth reptilian body flashing in the waves. Every so often she would dive beneath the water to skim the bottom hundreds of feet down, then come racing back up to leap clear of the water, then plunge back down. Seeing her full body, I was reminded strongly of Regole. I guess that particular breed of dragon was fairly common in the lakes and rivers around the Forgotten Lands.  
  
"She sure looks as though she's enjoying herself," Rasqul noted dryly. The huge red dragon had, until now, flown silently beside us for most of the trip. In fact, I realized, thinking back through the trip, this was the first time he'd actually spoken. "This is a treat for her. Most sea dragons never get to swim in anything any bigger than a large lake nowadays."  
  
"Why is that?" I called back, but the wind swept away my words. Feeling myself start to slide again, I quickly turned my attention back to keeping my balance. Tygris's wings rose and fell on either side of me in a steady, untiring rhythm. Starting to feel lulled by the constant sound of wings beating the air, I scanned the water below for a sign of the reef. I'd only ever seen the reef during storms when most of it was hidden beneath leaden waves that leeched any trace of color from the coral, making what few pieces that had been visible seem like fingers of fleshless bone. So as you can imagine, I was totally unprepared for the blaze of color that confronted me when I finally spotted it.  
  
The ocean floor quite suddenly rose up to meet the surface, leveling off into a sandy plateau about forty feet down. Curling and fanning up from the white sand in a blaze of color were the deep purples and bright reds of the coral. Here and there were patches of a strange gold color, twisting along in ropy coils through the myriad of other shades and shapes of coral. Fish of every imaginable sort darted to and fro amongst the waving aquatic vegetation that grew in patches and clumps between the coral and stone. Surrounded by a calm sea of deep blue, the entire scene seemed to glow with an inner light. Rubbing my eyes with one hand, I blinked. I wasn't imagining things; prisms of light glinted across the surface of the water and reflected on the coral.  
  
/How.?/  
  
//The reef grew over an old wingly ship that crashed here when they were still experimenting with the magics that allowed their cities to fly. One wingly named Eantul had an exaggerated opinion of himself. While the first airships were being built, he was repulsed by their ugliness and his finely tuned wingly preferences for crystal began to show through//  
  
/Winglies are attracted to shiny objects?/  
  
//Of course. They don't know it, and even if they did they'd never admit it, but they all love the sight of quartz or crystal. Why do you think they went through the trouble to mine enough of it to build the Crystal Palace?//  
  
/I never really thought about it/ I admitted, winding my fingers tighter into the feathers running along the crest of Tygris's neck as he started to descend.  
  
//At any rate, this Eantul fellow had an airship built for him entirely of crystal. But, like I said, winglies were still experimenting with magic// Ragnarok seemed to be on the verge of laughing.  
  
/I think I see where this is going/  
  
//You probably do. Eantul was very proud of his shiny new toy, so to celebrate he invited a great number of his friends to accompany him on the ship's maiden flight. They had no navigator, so they flew to and fro with no real sense of direction. Eventually, they got caught out here during a storm and the ship went down in the wind// He really was laughing now. //It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen//  
  
Tygris leveled off a few feet above the water, his tail trailing over the top of the waves. /You were there?/  
  
//I was the reason they got caught out there in the first place. They saw me hunting, so they came over to watch. It irritated me, so I started trailing them to give them a taste of their own medicine. They must have thought that I'd decided to hunt them, because they panicked and flew out into that storm to try to lose me//  
  
/You have a very warped sense of humor, you know that?/  
  
//Probably// he admitted. He was silent for a moment as I watched the crystalline glimmer of the water below. //Funny as hell though//  
  
"So," Tygris called back to me, "What are we supposed to be looking for?" He arched his neck and slowed his pace until he was little more than hovering above the waves, his tail curling around one hind leg so as to avoid sinking into the water.  
  
I adjusted my handhold and then glanced around. "There should be a wingly around here somewhere," I said, using my free hand to shield my eyes from the sun. "If we don't find her then Maydalsk will have to look for an entrance into the coral. One of them should have a cygnet inside it." I watched as Maydalsk snaked away through the waves, her head dipping alternately in and out of the water. Rasqul slipped away without a word, gaining altitude and beginning to circle like a hunting hawk over a meadow. I got the impression that he was trying to put as much distance between himself and the ocean as possible.  
  
//That's understandable. Flare dragons don't tend to enjoy water all that much// Ragnarok paused reflectively, scanning the reef quickly through my eyes as he did so. //I don't think that she's here yet//  
  
/What makes you think that?/ I asked.  
  
//I can't feel the cygnet//  
  
/Maybe the water's confusing you/  
  
//That's not it// I felt his mind go out, gently probing the area for any trace of magic, his own or otherwise. I felt a stab of alarm, and then he pulled his mind back quickly. //There's someone down there!//  
  
/Who?/ I asked, leaning over Tygris's shoulder to peer into the depths below. As far as I could see there was nothing out of the ordinary to look at.  
  
//I don't know, but its probably a wingly. They're shielding themselves with magic, although it feels as though it's going to give out soon.// He left it hanging.  
  
"Meru." I breathed. It could only be her; no other wingly would have a reason for being out here. I snapped my head up. "Tygris!"  
  
"What?!" He asked, surprised by my outburst. The bird-dragon swung his head around to face me, flat eyes slightly alarmed.  
  
"Is there anywhere around here where you could land?"  
  
He glanced around quickly, then soared over to a place where the coral rested only a foot or so beneath the surface. Landing carefully, he dug his talons into the lumpy, bone-like stuff. "This okay?"  
  
"Excellent," I replied absently, unfastening my sword belt. After a moment's hesitation I also removed the loose belt that carried the dragoon stones and stripped to the waist. Kicking off my boots, I slipped off of Tygris's back and into the chill water. "Do not let any of that fall," I told him, pointing to the items I had left on his narrow back. "If you can, get the attention of the others. I don't want to have to go looking for them when I get back up here." That said, I turned and plunged headfirst into the water to cut off any further questions.  
  
I surfaced farther out, then slipped back beneath the water again, pausing to allow my eyes to adjust slightly to the salt water. Everything was still pretty much one big blur, but it was better than swimming around blindly with my eyes closed. /Where is she?/  
  
//Somewhere off to your left// He replied tersely. //Look for a break in the coral//  
  
Mutely I complied. I had to come up for breath twice more before we found it, and even then I would never have noticed it if Ragnarok hadn't pointed it out to me. Hidden behind a frond of brightly colored seaweed, the cavity would have just broken the surface at low tide. Pushing the weed aside, I peered in. My body blocked out what little light that might have filtered its way through the narrow opening but I could still make out the pale form huddled at the back of the cavity. I reached in and grabbed her wrist; I could feel her pulse beating faintly underneath her cold skin. She was alive, but she felt so cold.  
  
//Dart!// Ragnarok's voice cut sharply through my thoughts. //Her shield's fading fast! We have to get her out of here before it gives out entirely and she drowns!//  
  
So that's how she'd kept herself alive. Tugging carefully, I turned her so that she was facing the opening. Her eyes opened and she struggled briefly for a moment, but sunk back into unconsciousness after a moment. Dragging her out, I pushed her to the surface. Almost before I myself broke the surface, Maydalsk caught her up in one long tentacle and lifted her clear of the water. Waves lapping gently at my face, I spat out salt water and made my way to the outcropping of coral where Tygris stood. Maydalsk floated behind me, her long serpentine body coiling around the submerged ridges and lumps of coral. "Is she alright?" she asked, her quiet voice worried.  
  
I glanced up. Rasqul, despite his distaste for water, had landed next to Tygris and now crouched with Meru lying on his broad back. I looked back at Maydalsk. "Can you give me a lift up there?" Wordlessly she obeyed, lifting me clear of the water and depositing me on Rasqul's scaly back next to Meru. She lay still, not even breathing. /Guraha's going to kill me./  
  
//Quit it Dart. She put all her energy into that shield so that she could breathe. She bearly has enough left to keep her heart beating//  
  
/What do we do?!/  
  
//Calm down. I can't do anything if all you're going to do is yell//  
  
/She's dying!/  
  
//I know// He responded calmly. //And if you don't shut up, we're not going to be able to help her// Once he was sure I wasn't going to interrupt again, he continued. //I'm going to have to use you as a channel again. She's lost a lot of her energy, so we're going to have to replace some of what she lost//  
  
I felt a momentary surge of apprehension at the word 'channel', but swallowed it. /What do I do?/ I asked, moving closer to her.  
  
//Just make contact. Take her hand or something//  
  
I did as he directed. /Now what?/  
  
//Hold on//  
  
There was no sudden sound or stab of pain. I just felt my energy ebb slowly away. After about a minute of this Meru had started to breathe again. Another thirty seconds and the color had restored itself to her face.  
  
//That's enough// Ragnarok's voice came at last, and the flow of energy stopped. I released Meru's hand and got to my feet, swaying slightly as I did so. The world around me spun, blurred, then came sharply back into focus. I was surprised at the effort it took to keep standing.  
  
/Meru sure needed a lot of energy, didn't she?/  
  
//Meru usually has a lot of energy. That was probably the only reason that her shield held out for so long//  
  
"Tygris, about how far back were those islands we passed on the way here?" Rasqul asked, swinging his blunt head around to stare at the smaller dragon.  
  
"Maybe half an hour. Less, if we hurry." Tygris glanced at the sun low in the western sky. "We'll have to hurry if we're to make it before dark."  
  
Maydalsk nodded. "You two go ahead. If that wingly girl was carrying a cygnet, she probably dropped it around here somewhere. I'll look for it, then catch up with you later." Without another word the sea dragon slipped off into the shallows, angling out towards the deeper water.  
  
I climbed back on to Tygris and numbly strapped my sword and the carrier belt back on. Taking off my bandana, I wrung it out and retied it, then pulled my shirt over my head and slipped into my jacket. Jumping back over to Rasqul, I settled down between his massive skeletal wings. Pulling Meru in front of me where I could steady her, I nodded to my host and prepared for his take off.  
  
//Why don't you let me handle things from here? You'll probably fall off faster then Meru will in the state you're in right now if I let you ride//  
  
/Sure you're not too tired?/  
  
Ragnarok chuckled dryly. //Trust me Dart. I won't blow up the world while you nod off for a bit//  
  
/No, only half/ I started to respond, but I felt my mind being pushed to one side. I tried to stay awake, but Ragnarok's insistent repetition of the words 'sleep now' eventually lulled me into slumber. I'm not sure for how long exactly I slept, but when I awoke it was dark and much of my energy had returned. /What's going on?/ I asked silently.  
  
//Not much. The wingly girl just woke up a few minutes ago. I think it would be better if you were the one asking the questions. She has something personal against me, I think//  
  
/You scarred her/  
  
//What?// Ragnarok asked, confused.  
  
/In the fight on the Mountain of Mortal Dragon/ I told him. /She was trying to hit you in the eye with that hammer of hers, and you tried to bite her in half. You missed killing her, but one of your teeth left a very nasty gash running down her back. We healed it, but the scar is still there/  
  
//Oh. Stupid reason to hold a grudge// He replied.  
  
/Not to her, Ark/ I pushed him to one side and took control again. I found myself sitting on a beach, next to a small fire. Rasqul lay behind me, serving as a windbreak. Tygris was stretched out on the other side of the fire, eyes half-closed in a sort of dreamy bliss as Meru stroked the crest of feathers on the top of his head with one hand. For some reason he suddenly reminded me of a puppy dog lying beside his master. The whole scene was suddenly so funny I had to struggle to keep myself from laughing out loud. Apparently, despite my best efforts some sound leaked out, because Meru looked over at me. "What's so funny?" She asked tartly  
  
Not trusting myself to words, I shook my head and moved closer to the fire. When I was positive that I wouldn't burst out laughing the moment I opened my mouth, I glanced back up at Meru. "What happened back there?"  
  
She hung her head. "I was attacked before I could get to the reef," She said, her voice trembling slightly. "I'd almost reached the ocean, but that damn cult caught up with me."  
  
"But how? Nobody but the group that traveled to Aglis knows about the cygnets."  
  
"I know," she said, raising her head to look at me once more. "Demara, the girl who helped to make the cygnet's shell, was a cultist Dart. I didn't realize it until it was too late. By then there was nothing left to do but hide the cygnet."  
  
"Where is it now?" I asked, trying to pull my thoughts into some semblance of order.  
  
"I dropped it in the ocean off the coast of Tiberoa. If we're really, really lucky it'll still be intact. But we'll have a job trying to get it out again."  
  
That wouldn't be too big a problem. Maydalsk could find it without much trouble if we gave her the right place to look. "So the cygnet's more or less safe for the moment?"  
  
"Yeah. They're not going to go diving for it anytime soon."  
  
//How'd they manage to catch up with her? She's fast enough flying with the dragoon spirit that it should have taken weeks for anyone to catch up with her// Ragnarok growled in the vaults of my mind.  
  
I repeated the question, and Meru shrugged. "Demara teleported after me, I guess. She must have mobilized the chapter of the cult in Fletz. All I know is that when I stopped at the coast for the night, they were waiting for me the next morning."  
  
"Did you fight them?" For some reason that question seemed horribly important.  
  
"I tried, Dart, but if I'd stayed I would have been slaughtered." Meru spread her hands wide in a gesture of apology. "They had the dragoon stones there. Jade, White-silver, and Gold, all of them with people who could activate and use them. And, what's worse, Demara stole mine while I was sleeping. And it recognized her! Next time you happen to talk to the Blue- sea dragon, would you mind yelling at him for me? I'd love to know why he let her use it."  
  
I was about to tell her that I wasn't really on speaking terms with the other spirits, but thought the better of it. She wouldn't listen to me anyway. Instead, I asked her another question. "So how did you end up out there in the reef like that?"  
  
"After I dropped the cygnet into the ocean it caused quite a bit of commotion. While they all tried to get it out before it sank too deep, I ran. Well, flew actually. Anyway, they were starting to catch up to me by the time I found the reef, so I created that shield, stored as much air in it as I could, and hid in the coral. I was planning to stay in there only until they'd gone, but I guess I passed out before that."  
  
"When did you reach the reef?"  
  
"Mid afternoon. Arkie said that you found me just before sunset, so I was probably down there for about three hours or so." She shook her head. "I'm lucky that my shield held out that long."  
  
After a short time Meru dozed off again, her breath kicking up little swirls of sand as she breathed in and out. I lay back and closed my eyes. Something besides the obvious had bothered me about Meru's story, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. /Ark?/  
  
//What is it now?//  
  
/Meru said that Demara had followed her from the Forest of the Winglies because she didn't know where the cygnet was going to be hidden, right?/  
  
//Not in so many words, but that was the gist of it. Why do you ask?//  
  
/If they didn't know the location of one, then they probably would have no idea where the others were hid, would they?/  
  
//Probably not//  
  
/But Demara would have known that there were still three more cygnets. She knows that she needs to destroy all four of them if she wants to release the Moon, but she must have figured that Meru's cygnet was lost because they left fairly quickly. They still need to destroy the other cygnets, but no one knows where they are. Doesn't it make sense that they'd go after someone who would?/  
  
Ragnarok was silent for a moment, piecing things together. I stayed out of his way, knowing that he'd come to the correct conclusion faster than I could. I had a suspicion, but I didn't want to think about it unless I had to. Finally Ragnarok spoke.  
  
//Meru said that Demara had the cultists from Fletz with her, didn't she// He stated it as a fact, not a question.  
  
/Yeah/  
  
//Well then, you'd better wake everyone up. We don't have a whole lot of time//  
  
I swallowed the feeling of dread that was slowly creeping up my throat. /What do you mean?/  
  
//Don't you get it Dart? Blano is the only one that they know of who could tell them the locations of all the cygnets. He's not going to tell them willingly, but that's what that army is for// He spoke calmly, but I got the feeling that that was only because he was to weary to put any excitement into his words. //The cultists are going to attack the Forest, and unless we're there to stop them, the Forest of the Winglies is doomed// 


	15. Collapse

Sorry about the delay. Exams are the bane of my existence at the moment.  
  
  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
"See anything yet?" Dart called to Meru. We rode on Tygris's back, scanning the rocky coast below him for any sign of the cultist army. After leaving the island that morning, we'd reached the coast of Tiberoa and flown steadily inland, following the trail of the cultist army. We'd been able to track them almost all the way to the barrens, but then had lost their trail as what little trace of footprints there had been disappeared as the ground changed from sand to rock.  
  
"Not yet," Meru responded, performing a little spin in mid-air as she did so. She flew in ever increasing circles around Tygris and Rasqul, keeping watch for any gorges and canyons that the cultists could have disappeared into. "I've seen a couple possibilities, but they're all either too narrow or too shallow. They did a good job of hiding; if I didn't know better, I'd say that the earth just opened and swallowed them up."  
  
Dart grunted, and then turned his eyes back to scanning the ground below. /What about you? Do you feel the dragoon stones around here anywhere?/  
  
//I'm getting a few inklings, but nothing very specific. I'd say that we aren't too far off though// I paused, testing the area once again with my mind. //I'd say try to your left a little more//  
  
Dart repeated my message to Tygris, then took a firmer handhold as the dragon banked sharply in the indicated direction, letting the air spill from under his wings as he dropped into a shallow dive. Pulling out of it about twenty feet above the wall of the nearest gorge he flew along at a leisurely pace, enjoying the feel of the hot sun on his back. //Lazy idiot// I muttered to myself.  
  
/What was that?/  
  
//Nothing. Just reflecting on your mount's behavior. Would you mind telling him to wake up a bit?// I was about to add 'and a slap upside the head' as well when I felt something off to the southeast. I brought my mind to bear on it, but no sooner had I found it then it disappeared again. Not that it mattered: the damage had already been done. //Got them//  
  
/Where?/  
  
//In a gorge to the south. Demara's been trying to shield them, but she slipped up a minute ago. They're all there: Gold, White-silver, Blue Sea, and Jade//  
  
/No Red-eye?/  
  
//There doesn't seem to be. I guess they haven't been able to find it yet//  
  
Dart called out directions, and a moment later both dragons had landed. Meru hovered off south, disappearing and reappearing as she flew in and out of the rock formations. //Where's she going?//  
  
/Scouting things out, I'd expect. Don't worry, she'll be back soon/ Taking off his jacket, Dart found some shade and sat down to take a break from the burning sun. The two dragons flopped down on the rocky ground, relishing the sun. Rasqul in particular seemed to enjoy the heat, but he was a fire dragon after all. Eleven thousand years or so ago this could have been home to his breed. Even now, in a world that had changed vastly for us dragons, the sight of him lying on the craggy earth with his rust colored scales blending almost perfectly with the jagged stone still seemed perfectly natural. It both angered and saddened me: for all those years both humans and dragons were ruled over by the winglies. Only by combining our powers were we able to free Endiness from their tyranny. And yet in the end it was the weaker of us two, the humans, who rose to take power over the continent. The dragons were forced to leave Endiness for the lands to the east, a continent untouched by either the hands of humans or winglies. And while all this happened I had been sealed away in my own lair, unable to prevent it. For some reason the very thought of it all made me want to maim something.  
  
/Let it be, Ragnarok/ Dart's voice swam through my mind. /What has happened has happened and there's nothing you can do about it/  
  
//I know. I'd still like to kill something though//  
  
/Save it for the cultists. I don't know how happy they'll be to oblige, but you can still take it out on them/  
  
//I can live with that//  
  
/I doubt they can/  
  
//Too bad for them. Is Meru coming back yet?//  
  
Dart glanced off in the direction that she'd left in. /Not yet, but she shouldn't be too much longer/ Closing his eyes, he pulled his bandana down to cover them and leaned back against the rock. After a moment or so he started to doze, the heat of the wasteland beginning to take its toll. The only sound was the warm southern wind as it sighed through the twisted rock formations, occasionally accompanied by the lonely sound of a solitary hawk riding the thermals somewhere far above us.  
  
It was another ten minutes or so before Meru arrived back, breathless and shaking from excitement. "Found them!" She announced triumphantly. "They're all holed up in one end of a canyon a little ways away from here. You should see 'em. They're all packed in there tighter than apples in a barrel. I doubt anyone would have enough room to so much as sneeze."  
  
Dart pushed his bandana back up onto his forehead. "Must be a small canyon," he remarked as he sat up. "Who's in charge? Could you tell?"  
  
Meru shrugged. "I dunno, but probably those hypocrites with the dragoon stones. I think they're hoping that we'll miss them and keep on going north." She gave a wicked little laugh. "As if that's going to happen."  
  
/Well? We have a good portion of the Tiberoian chapter of the cult right here. This is too good an opportunity to miss/ Dart got to his feet and pulled his jacket back on. Shuddering loose sand from their scales, the two dragons followed suit. Watching the pair as they prepared to take off, I had a sudden brainwave. //Dart, let me talk to those two for a moment. I just had a thought//  
  
Wordlessly, Dart moved to one side and let me take over. When I was positive that I was in complete control, I called "Wait!"  
  
Tygris paused, halfway through takeoff, and swung his head around to look at me with a startled expression on his face. "What?" he asked. Beside him Rasqul settled back down to earth with his wings kicking up a small dust storm and dwarfing us all in his shadow.  
  
"When we get to the gorge, I want you two to hold back for a little bit and let us go ahead. When we're ready, I want Rasqul to circle around to the very back of the gorge. Tygris, stay on their left side: I want both of you out of sight. When the front line has almost reached us, I want the two of you to strike from the back and the side. They don't know that we have dragons, so they won't be expecting you."  
  
"But you told us before we left that these cultists are fanatics," Rasqul rumbled. "Fanatics don't tend to run from a fight."  
  
I nodded. "I don't expect them to. But they will hesitate." I glanced over at Meru. "What do the walls look like?"  
  
"What?" She asked, clearly confused by the question.  
  
"The walls of the gorge. What do they look like?" I snapped. "How high, and what do they look like?"  
  
Startled by my response, Meru forgot to put the edge in her voice she usually used when speaking to me. "I dunno. Quite high, but like I said the gorge is narrow. The walls are all rocky and sort of curved inwards and there's a lot of overhangs."  
  
Turning back to Rasqul, I finished outlining my plan. "When they are attacked from the front, back, and sides, the cultists will be forced together at one side of the gorge. One clean shot from the cannon ought to bring the whole side of the gorge down on them. They can't fight with a couple hundred tons of rock on top of them."  
  
Rasqul thought it over for a moment, then broke into a grin. Well, it was a grin to me. To a human it would appear as though he were preparing to rip off my head. "A well conceived plan, divine one. And the best part is, it may actually work."  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
The gorge was more or less as Meru had described it, a narrow winding channel carved into the solid rock with an old dried up riverbed twisting along the bottom of it. The concave walls offered partial protection from the boiling sun, and the temperature at the bottom of the canyon was infinitely more comfortable than the heat on the sun baked land above. Here and there were piles of broken rock where chunks of the wall had already broken away already, adding to the clutter of the old worn boulders of the riverbed. Meru led me down into the gorge, to a spot she claimed was 'just around the corner' from the cultists. When I paused to listen I could hear the distorted echoes of murmured conversations, the words sounding senseless and intelligible to my ears. I ran one hand through my sweat- streaked hair, brushing a few errant strands out of my eyes. "About how far away will they be once we come around this bend?"  
  
"A hundred meters, maybe less." Meru gave her hammer a few swings, warming up her arm muscles. "We'll still have time to prepare though. All those old boulders in the rivine are going to slow them down some." Shouldering her weapon she struck a pose, the way a dancer would before executing a difficult move that was the key to a routine. "Well then. Why don't you put on your wings, and let's get this show on the road!"  
  
/At least someone's optimistic about this/ I muttered quietly to Ragnarok.  
  
//Who's saying she's the only one? You haven't let me kill anything in almost a week// He told me accusingly.  
  
/Do you really need to destroy things so much?/ I asked, my thoughts sounding surprisingly wistful in my mind.  
  
//It's all instinct, Dart. I couldn't help myself even if I wanted to: that's probably the reason I ended up trapped in this damned stone. And anyway, you want this cult out of the way as much as I do//  
  
/Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about doing this/  
  
//You're inconsistent, Dart. Sometimes you want to kill things as much as I do//  
  
/Then it's probably a side effect of your character. You've been inside my head too long, Ark. I think you're starting to rub off on me/  
  
//That's good to hear//  
  
/Shut up/ I told him irritably as I activated my stone. /Keep your mannerisms to yourself. I was quite happy with the way I was before you came along and started messing with my head/  
  
//Whatever you say// Ragnarok said passively. //Let's just get on with it//  
  
The armor finished forming with a burst of light that clearly lit up the shadows of the overhang. Seeing Meru already hurrying ahead, I flared my wings and took off after her. The bend in the gorge was much longer than I thought it would be, so I was unprepared when we at last rounded the corner and found ourselves facing a rather startled army of cultists across a couple hundred feet of broken ravine. We stared at each other for a moment or two before, with a startled cry, the fanatics raised their weapons and charged forward in a stumbling, disorganized mob.  
  
It was over so fast that the cultists probably never knew exactly what had hit them. Just as the front runners of the mob had almost reached us, there came a startled cry from the back ranks as Rasqul's fire poured down upon them from the sky above. Beside me Meru had dropped her hammer and was letting off the fireballs that were the trademark of the wingly race into the hoard as fast as she could create them. Pulling energy into the shoulder of my cannon I added my own spell to the fray, watching as the pellets of light showered the front line with death. Unable to move backwards or forwards, the cultist ranks collapsed inward, losing what small semblance of order they had managed to obtain. At that exact moment Tygris hit their left side, forcing them hard against the right side of the gorge. All this happened within a matter of seconds. With a wrench of pity I raised the cannon, aiming for a spot halfway up to the lip of the canyon wall, feeling the power building up within the gun like a swollen river held captive by a dam. But even through all this, I couldn't help but wonder: Where were their dragoons?  
  
//Now!// Ragnarok's voice cracked through my mind like a whip.  
  
The dam broke. The blast of energy the surged out of the mouth of the cannon lanced forwards, stabbing through the rock of the rivine and disintegrating a portion of the wall entirely. For a moment nothing happened, and then there was a huge groan that seemed to come from the earth its self as the rock face began to break apart. First stones, then boulders fell, until finally the whole side of the gorge collapsed with a sound that could have easily drowned out thunder. Kicking off hard against the ground, I forced myself into the air just as the dust cloud caused by the catastrophe began to fill the gorge.  
  
Above the mess, I took a moment to make sure everyone was safe before letting my breath out. Meru was doubled over in the air about fifty feet away panting heavily with the sun catching in the silver-blue light of her wings. Both Rasqul and Tygris were settled on the lip of the gorge, watching disinterestedly as the dust cloud swirled and billowed beneath them. We'd all made it out in time. /Happy?/  
  
//Good enough, I suppose// Ragnarok said dubiously. //But couldn't you have-// He broke off suddenly; I could feel his mind probing the wreckage below us. When he spoke again, it was in a yell. //Damnit! They made it out!//  
  
For a moment there was nothing besides the sound of the still crumbling cliff, still groaning and crashing beneath the veil of swirling dust. And then a sound caught my attention, so faint it was a wonder I even noticed it over the rumbling of falling stone. But hear it I did. Surprisingly calm, I turned to face the north, realizing that I should have expected this all along. I hadn't seen the cultist dragoons during the attack because they had never even been directly involved in the fight. All the fight had been was a distraction, a way to delay us so that their dragoons could get a head start on us as we all raced to reach the Forest before they did. Even now I could see them, four bursts of light streaking off towards the northwest at incredible speed. Just before they reached the edge of my vision, they winked out of sight, probably teleported away by Demara. They'd probably reappear somewhere near the coast of Northern Tiberoa, then make the flight across Illisa Bay to Millie Seseau and the Forest. Wings slowly beating the air, I flew wearily down to land beside Tygris.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Meru demanded, landing hard beside me. "We have to catch them!"  
  
"It's useless, Meru. They're already crossing the bay by now." I hung my head. "They've outsmarted us. There's no way we can catch up to them now."  
  
Meru exhaled sharply, and for a moment I thought she was going to slap me. She probably would have too, if she could reach. "It doesn't matter. We still have to try!" She yelled at me, then paused to take a breath. When she looked at me again her face was calm, but I could still see anger burning behind her eyes. "The Forest is where I was born Dart. You should know better than anyone should what it's like to lose your hometown. Let me ask you something: If the same thing were happening to Seles, would you give up this easily? Or would you still try and catch them?"  
  
I suddenly felt ashamed of myself. Meru was right of course: if this were Seles, I wouldn't even consider not trying to save it. /Ragnarok?/  
  
//I hate to admit it, but she's right. If those cultists can get the locations of the cygnets from Blano then we're going to be hard pressed to save them. We can't let that happen// Typical. He was looking at things on a practical level rather than an emotional level. But either way, they were both right. Raising my head again, I looked over at Meru. "How good are you at teleporting?"  
  
"Not too great, but I can jump us to Doneau from here." She looked critically at the two dragons. "Not them though. They're too heavy."  
  
"That'll have to be good enough, I guess." Turning to face Tygris, I pointed west. "Start flying that way. Sooner or later you'll come to the Death Frontier. The winglies from Ulara are expecting you, so someone will come out to fetch you once they realize you're there. Stay with the cygnet, and get used to guarding it. If we're lucky, you'll be doing that for the rest of your life." Not waiting for a response, I faced Rasqul. "You go north. Once you hit snow and mountains, start looking for the Mountain of Mortal dragon. It's north of a big evergreen forest, and is volcanically active, so it's sort of hard to miss. Same drill as with Tygris: find where Guraha left the cygnet and guard it with your life. I'll be by from time to time to check on you ."  
  
Wordlessly Meru pulled herself up into the crook of my arm. Taking a firm hold onto the armor, she took a small breath and concentrated, her silver brows furrowing with the effort. There was a rushing sound and the now familiar pang of pain in the back of my mind, and then the world around me dissolved into a seething globe of electric green. The world remained like this for about a minute or so, then flickered back into its normal appearance. The pain in my mind disappeared, and it was replaced abruptly by the falling sensation in my stomach. Wisps of cloud flashed past as we passed them or went right through them, falling towards the rocky ground below at a tremendous speed.  
  
//Dart, use the wings if you don't mind// Ragnarok said calmly.  
  
/Quiet, you/ I muttered, stretching my wings to catch the air, and then beginning to beat them again once the rate of our fall had slowed enough. /How was I supposed to know she'd drop us out again in mid-air?/ I glanced down at Meru, who was lying limply across my armored arm. It must have taken most of her energy to move us this far. "You alright?"  
  
"Yeah," she responded, although she didn't lift her face from the place she'd planted it into the armor. "I just need to rest a bit. We should almost be at the coast, so just keep going north. If we're fast, maybe we can catch them before they teleport again."  
  
I didn't think that we could, but I wasn't about to tell her that. Grimly I set my sights on the northern horizon, noting as I did so Illisa Bay glinting in the distance. Gathering my energy, I prepared myself for the last leg of our flight, across the bay and into Millie Seseau.  
  
I could only hope that we wouldn't be too late.  
  
Meru's POV:  
  
Teleporting is very tiring for me, even if I have a lot of rest before hand. So you can guess how tired I was teleporting Dart and I right after a fight that had consisted mostly of chucking fireballs at people on my part. I honestly didn't mean to drop us off in mid-air like that, but I didn't have enough energy to take us the rest of the way to the coast. And to tell the truth, I didn't really have too much time to think of a way to say "I'm sorry", because I was asleep before we even reached the bay. And that's saying something, because dragoons are anything but slow when they fly.  
  
But even in my sleep I didn't find much rest: my dreams were haunted with visions of the Forest burning, all my friends lying about on the ground in pain. I even saw my parents, but that couldn't be right because my parents had passed from this world almost fifty years ago. Worst of all I saw Guraha, lying on the ground all bloody and broken. Hovering over it all were four dragoons, all of their features blurred and unrecognizable save for one. Demara flew above the scene, a look of cruel exhalation on her face, holding her long double tipped javelin loosely in one hand. Even in my dreams I yearned to reach out and tear her down from the sky. We'd never gotten along before; she'd always been jealous of the trust the ancestor had in me after the whole incident with the Virage Embryo and all that stuff. But now things had gone way too far. I mentally promised myself that if I didn't get to kill her for her betrayal and what she was about to do, no one would.  
  
When I finally did come to I felt sandy eyed and tired. Some of my energy had returned, but I seriously doubted I'd be able to cast anymore than one fireball spell. The cold wind slapping my face did, however, wake me up. Opening my eyes, I peered down at the ground below. Evergreens blurred beneath us, the snow on their branches and the varying greens of their needles forming a dull kaleidoscope of color as we shot overhead. Next to me Dart was silent, his face grim as he concentrated on flying, eyes focused on one distant location. With a sick feeling in my stomach, I turned to see what he was staring at so intently.  
  
It was hazy and indistinct at first, but we were closing in on it at an alarming rate, and it soon became obvious what I was looking at, no matter how much my heart tried to avoid it. From the midst of the trees arose a column of black smoke, drifting across the sky as it caught in the wind. That was all: just the smoke. It's funny how one small thing can imply so much.  
  
As we drew nearer, flames became distinguishable beneath the heavy black smoke. They consumed buildings and trees alike, staining the dusk sky an ominous sooty red. As Dart flared his wings, preparing to land near the ruins of an old stone storehouse, I felt a lump form in my throat. Amid the wreckage lay a familiar form; clothes and silver hair stained with dark blood. Almost as soon as his feet touched the ground, Dart disengaged his spirit and let go of me, watching as I ran across the debris covered stone floor of the warehouse to where Guraha lay.  
  
"Guraha!" I crouched next to him, my hand automatically going to his neck to test for his pulse. I guess I must have had cold hands or something, because the moment my fingers touched his skin he jerked violently and his eyes snapped open. "Hey, calm down! It's me!"  
  
"Meru!" Breathing hard, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Reaching up to touch his forehead with one hand, he winced and pulled it away, fingers covered with blood. Now that he was sitting I could clearly see the long gash running along his forehead, partially hidden by his bandana. "Meru, we have to get to the Ancestor before those cultists do," he told me through gritted teeth. "I managed to get him to safety before they came, but I don't know how long it'll last." He started to struggle to his feet, but gasped and sunk back down as his left leg gave out on him. "We have to-"  
  
"Quiet," I told him. "You're hurt. There's no way you're going to go back in there and fight." Still kneeling next to him, I turned to speak over my shoulder. "Dart! You have to." I trailed off as I realized that I was speaking to empty air. Dart must have left while my attention was focused on Guraha. Turning back to Guraha I helped him to his feet, ducking under his left arm so that the weight his left leg would usually bear was on me. "C'mon, we have to get you out of here."  
  
"But the Ancestor."  
  
"No buts. Dart and that bad tempered dragon of his'll take care of it." Starting forward, I tugged Guraha along after me. "Now let's get out of here before the roof collapses and kills us both."  
  
"You're not going anywhere," A smug voice came from behind us.  
  
I stiffened. I knew that voice all to well. "What do you want, Demara?" I asked acidly. "Haven't you done enough damage here already? You must be very proud. There's not many winglies out there who can say that they destroyed their own hometown." Carefully I turned to face her, placing myself between her and Guraha.  
  
"I am, aren't I?" Demara said, speaking in an offhand way that ground on my nerves. "As for what I want, it's not all that much. I just want Guraha to tell me where he hid the Ancestor, that's all."  
  
Behind me, Guraha spat on the ground. "You can go stick your head in a dragon's mouth, you traitorous bitch. I'm not telling you anything." He growled at Demara, glaring at her from over my head.  
  
Demara's eyes hardened. "Fine then. I was going to say that if you told me I might let you and your wife live, but just for that I think I'll kill you on the spot. We can find the Ancestor on our own."  
  
I laughed, my voice sounding harsh to my own ears. "That's if there're any of you guys left to search. Dart was in a pretty bad mood last time I saw him, and if Ragnarok has any say in the matter, most of your 'friends' will be pretty busy right about now just trying to stay alive. The Divine Dragon likes to kill things when he's annoyed I've noticed, and right now he's probably in a blinding rage."  
  
Demara scowled. "We outnumber him. Three-to-one puts the odds in our favor."  
  
"If I put faith in odds, I'd have been dead a very long time ago."  
  
"I tire of you, Meru." Demara said, her tone deceptively calm. "You've always been an annoyance, but now I finally have the means to deal with you." Reaching into the folds of her loose top, she withdrew a familiar blue stone. "You always had this one advantage over me, Meru. How does it feel now, to be at the other end of the stick?" Holding the stone out at arm length, she smiled maliciously as it burst into light, the soft blue tones conflicting with the flames dancing behind her.  
  
"So this is what it all comes down to," Guraha said softly, watching as the armor began to form over Demara's body. "I guess this is it."  
  
I wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but in my heart I knew he was right. There was no way out. The old storehouse we were in was now completely surrounded by fire, the flames slowly blackening the smooth gray stones. The roof was crumbling, but that didn't matter: I doubted that either of us would have the strength to fly. And even if we did, Demara would just cut us down in mid air. "I guess so."  
  
Demara's transformation completed, and she stood before us with her javelin leveled at my chest. Wings neatly folded at her back she gave one last venomous smile and began the intricate movements that would soon lead to a spell of devastating power. "I'd say that I'll miss you, but that would be a lie," she said, spinning slowly in a circle.  
  
I felt Guraha's arm wrap around my waist. "We have to end this," he whispered. Taking my hand in his, he lifted it until it was pointing directly at the dancing wingly before us. Gathering his energy, he rested his head on my shoulder. "One last shot. Looks like it's up to Dart now."  
  
Knowing full well what he meant, I nodded and began to draw in what little magical energy I had left, adding it to his. "Let's bring this house down."  
  
Like I said, the building we were in was in poor condition, the roof near to falling in. In truth, the only thing holding it up was a single stone pillar situated in the center of the room. And even now it looked as though it were about to collapse, the weight of the heavy stone slabs forming the roof too much for it to bear. And so at the last moment before we released the spell, we adjusted our aim. Demara's yell of surprise was drowned out as the fireball collided with the pillar, knocking out the last support the roof had. Demara, unable to stop casting her spell, was just as trapped as we were. And as the slabs began to fall, I turned and buried my head into Guraha's chest, whispering one last thing to him before the slabs came crashing down.  
  
"I love y-"  
  
  
  
... I can't believe I just did that. **goes off to bang her head against the wall, muttering about sacrifices made for plot** Please don't throw too many pointy objects at me for that chapter. It was coming sooner or later, and as explained before, I hate having characters just fade away. Under most circumstances, if they're going to have to go, I like to let'em go with a bang 


	16. Fall

Aha! I finally found the energy to update! **huggles a giant bag of cinnamon hearts** ^-^; I swear, nothing breaks apart a writers block like a few sugar highs. Too bad that exams erase all possibility of original thought for the next week or so after you've written them. Oh well.  
  
Just a few quick notes here: Yes, I thought that it was getting a little one sided too. Don't worry, there will be some new characters coming up soon, but only a few at first. Sorry, but the first part of this fic is largely focused around Dart. It should start getting a little more evened out sooner or later though. About all I can do for now is give Ark some more POV's. The rest of the dragoons from the game itself have died. By now it's been about 128 years from the time when the game itself took place. Sorry about that, I should have mentioned that earlier. It's my bad. Gomen nasi! ^^  
  
  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
Leaving Meru to tend to Guraha, we headed for the upper apartments of the burning wingly village, dodging pieces of burning rubble as they fell from the patios and walkways above us. An unnerving silence had settled over the scene; aside from the crackle of flames and the occasional piece of falling rubble, the village was alarmingly quiet. Dart commented on this fact as he jumped across a break in the stone path. /Something's wrong/ he muttered, slowing to a stop.  
  
//You don't have to repeat the obvious// I told him. //And keep moving. You make too good a target just standing around like this// Only half-concentrating on Dart's actions; I turned my mind to the matter of Blano. Guraha had said that he'd taken him somewhere safe, but Dart hadn't hung around long enough to hear where that safe place was. But we couldn't do anything about it now.  
  
Dart slipped into the lake that surrounded the main structure of the wingly village, unable to get any closer to the structure because of the heat that emanated from the flames that had engulfed the it. /He won't be in there/ Rummaging in one of the deep inside pockets of his coat, he found a spirit potion, uncorked it, and drank the contents of the glass vial in a few swallows. Tucking the empty bottle back into his pocket, he continued to swim around to the back of the burning tree structure, his movement hampered slightly by the sword hanging from his belt at his side.  
  
The water, heated by the flames from the burning village, was pleasantly warm, but was coated with a thin layer of dark ash that stuck to anything it touched. Struggling to keep his head above the water so as not to get any of the ash into his eyes, Dart swam slowly towards the far shore. Reaching the bank, he pulled himself out with water dripping from his jacket and paused to listen again, wiping the wet soot away from his mouth with the palm of his hand. Aside from the crackling flames and the occasional sound of falling debris, all was more or less quiet. Hand on his sword hilt, Dart started out warily towards the back of the forest where Blano's quarters were located. There was no cover to be provided by the burning buildings or trees, so the walk was a rather nervous one. /Any idea where Guraha may have taken him?/  
  
//Not really. Keep your eyes open. Those cultists are bound to turn up sooner or later, and I'd rather that we were not taken by surprise// I was starting to get concerned about Blano: there were only so many places that Guraha could have hidden him that weren't already destroyed by the fire, and with four dragoons looking for him as opposed to us, the odds didn't look to be in our favor. We could only hope that we would stumble across him by chance before Demara and the other cultists found him.  
  
Reaching the back of the forest, Dart stopped abruptly. "Great," he muttered to himself, "I hadn't thought of this." The twisted tree building that housed Blano's quarters lay ahead, untouched by the fire that ravaged the village and the forest around it. Unfortunately, the adjoining buildings were either all in ruin or consumed by fire. Walking to the base of the structure, Dart looked up at the platform overhead. /How're we going to get up there? I'll attract too much attention if I transform and it would just be a waste of energy/  
  
//Better get climbing then// I told him.  
  
/Can't you think of any other way?/ He asked rather plaintively.  
  
//Quit complaining and start climbing, Dart. The trunk is rough enough that you shouldn't have too much trouble//  
  
/So says you. You don't have to climb this thing/  
  
//Can you think of any better way?//  
  
/Why don't you do it if you like the idea so much?/  
  
//Get climbing Dart. We're running out of time//  
  
Grumbling something about slave driving dragons, Dart found hand holds and began to pull himself up the trunk. /I hate climbing/ He grumbled, jamming his foot into a crack and using it to push himself up higher.  
  
//You don't have to like it, just so long as you do it//  
  
/You're in a bad mood today/  
  
//It's called stress. I'm surprised you haven't been feeling it too//  
  
/I am. I'm just saving it all up so that I can drown it in an ale keg once we get back to Ulara/ His foot slipped, but he caught himself and continued his ascent.  
  
//That's a productive habit. The hangover will give you a wonderful headache, you know that?//  
  
/Hey, you deal with stress in your way, I'll deal with it in mine/ Dart clung to the lumpy trunk of the tree for a minute, glaring at a large branch that protruded out in front of him. Leaning out and reaching with one hand, he managed to get a firm hold on the top of the branch. We were about thirty or so feet above the ground now, almost to the platform. Tensing himself, Dart prepared to swing his body up onto the limb. This may have worked too, had not a cultist chose this exact moment to intervene.  
  
The gust of wind came suddenly, howling through the burning trees and hitting us in a blast of hot air that knocked Dart from the trunk, leaving him to dangle precariously by one hand from the limb. Groping wildly with his free hand, he managed to get a second handhold on the rough branch. As the wind died, he dragged himself onto the branch, gasping for breath. /Where the hell did that come from?/ He demanded, even though we both knew the answer already. The Jade Dragoon flew at an almost leisurely pace over the treetops, but heading straight towards us nonetheless.  
  
Cursing, Dart gathered himself and leapt up to grab the rail of the platform above with both hands. Hauling himself over the edge, he hit the stone floor of the platform with a grunt and rolled to his feet, drawing his sword as he did so. Starting across the platform towards the wooden archway that led to Blano's quarters, he made it about halfway before the Jade barred his way, standing before the arch with his halberd held before him. There was a faint rustle of wings, then a young raven-haired woman of about fifteen or so wearing the White-Silver armor landed to our left.  
  
"Took you long enough to find him, Seth." She said fingering the bowstring of her silver plated longbow. "I've been watching him for the last ten minutes."  
  
"And yet you didn't do anything about it Allison? You show a remarkable reserve of courage for one so young." Seth said sarcastically. He was a tall man with salt and pepper hair and deep purplish scar running along his high cheekbone. He held his weapon loosely in one hand, but his stance, even wearing the dragoon armor, dictated that he knew how to use it.  
  
Allison spat bitterly on the ground, then pulled back her bowstring. "Can we kill him?" She asked, her voice suddenly eager. For some reason I found her habit of talking about us as though we weren't even standing there rather irritating.  
  
Seth thought about it, then shook his head. "Ferric wanted to have some fun with him first. He was saying something about 'needing a worthy opponent'."  
  
"Ferric is an ass." Allison grumbled, but she did lower her bow. Seeming bored, she turned to stare at me openly. "So you're the Black Monster, huh? You don't look all that dangerous."  
  
Dart said nothing, but turned to meet her stare with a glare of his own. After a minute or so of this Allison dropped her eyes to watch an ant scurrying along over the stones, unable to meet his eyes. /She seems a little nervous. All she's doing is blustering/ Dart remarked. Outwardly he appeared calm, even cold, but I could feel his nervous irritation boiling beneath the surface. As powerful as the Divine Dragoon armor is, and as much combat experience as Dart had behind him, the odds were two to one against him, probably greater if this Ferric that the two cultist dragoons kept talking about still happened to be around.  
  
Finally, Dart spoke. "Where's Demara?" He asked, addressing Seth in a flat tone. "I've been meaning to have a nice, long conversation with her lately. She's managed to piss us off quite well."  
  
Seth looked rather confused at Dart's use of 'us', but let it go. Scratching at his close cropped hair with one gauntleted hand, he grinned rather maliciously at him. "She had something to deal with back at the entrance of the forest. It concerned two of her old friends, I understand. She said something about needing to repay an old grudge."  
  
Dart gave no outward reaction to what he'd just heard, but inside I felt his mind literally stop functioning for a moment or two. /H-he's lying/ He said finally, his tone flat. /He's lying, isn't he, Ragnarok?/  
  
Wordlessly I pushed my mind out, searching for the familiar touch of Guraha's mind. When I found nothing, I pushed my mind out farther, looking for Meru. Still nothing. Almost desperately, I sent my mind out again one final time to look for Demara. Again no response. Regretfully, I drew my mind back in to where it belonged. //I don't know// I told Dart finally. //He's probably just trying to shake you up. Don't get distracted//  
  
Dart seemed as though he was going to respond, but at that moment Ferric arrived, landing a few feet to our right. "Don't go trying to mess with the man's head, Seth. He's probably had a bad enough day as it is." Ferric's voice had a slightly cultured accent to it, belying his rather savage appearance. With a flash of light his golden armor disappeared, although the change in no way made him seem any less imposing. Standing well over six feet tall with a long black scalp lock flowing down the back of his neck, his knotted arm muscles flexed threateningly as he rested both hands on the cross hilt of his broadsword. "So you're the one that's killed our Moon Child, huh?"  
  
Shaking himself out of his daze, Dart managed a smirk, although his head was bowed so that his eyes remained hidden to this new aggressor. "It was the least I could do for this world. The last thing we need is another insane wannabe god trying to destroy it again."  
  
A flicker of annoyance crossed Ferric's face, but he covered his irritation with a bland smile. "Do you really think that's what would happen? Why would he destroy all of this if all he wished to create was a utopia?"  
  
"Oh, he'd create a utopia alright. Right after he destroyed this one. I'm not sure, but I think this world's a little corrupted for his tastes."  
  
Ferric shrugged. "If that's what you believe. In any case, I won't be alive to see it happen now that you've killed our Child." Lifting his sword with one hand, he took up a fighting stance, the point of his blade held low to the ground. "C'mon, pick up your sword. I don't have all day you know." Shooting a look over at Allison and Seth, he added, "And I want you two to stay out of this."  
  
"Whatever." Allison's tone was bored, but her eyes were afire with sudden interest.  
  
"What do you want?" Dart was slightly confused. /I thought they'd just try and kill me on the spot/  
  
"I've been looking for a worthy opponent of late," Ferric said expansively, gesturing slightly with his free hand, "And up until now the results have been rather disappointing. I'm widely recognized as the greatest swordsman in the world, so competition has grown rather scarce. I thought that I'd never find someone worth my while." He sighed dramatically. "Life can be so tedious when one has nothing to occupy themselves with. At any rate, I heard about you shortly after I joined this cult. After all, who better to test my skills against than the legendary Black Monster himself?"  
  
So that was what this little delay was about. //Accept his challenge, Dart. We're going to have to fight him anyway, and it's probably better to face off against him before you fight the others//  
  
Nodding, Dart also took up a fighting stance, the blue steel of his weapon glinting in the firelight. Without waiting for an invitation he lunged forward, the keen edge of his blade singing through the air as he swung it in an upward arc towards Ferric's belly. The blade song, however, was cut short as it met edge to edge with the larger man's counterstrike, sending up a shower of sparks as it did so. Weapons locked, the two aggressors glared at one another for a long moment before spinning away, only to clash again.  
  
And so went the fight. I've often heard of battle being described as an intricate dance, with a rhythm and pulse all of its own, and this engagement was no exception. Despite his vast size, or perhaps because of it, Ferric wielded his massive blade with speed and skill, using his strength to make even the smallest of strokes an effort to block. He fought in a way that was meant to wear down his opponent simply though the sheer weight of his blows. Dart, realizing this, fabricated a rather simple counter-strategy: he avoided blocking anything at all, instead dodging to the side or backwards whenever a strike came. Dart's speed offset Ferric's strength, but the taller man forced him more and more often to have to take up a defensive stance as he rained down blows aimed at his shorter opponent's head.  
  
Retreating under a sudden flurry of attacks, Dart winced as Ferric's blade sliced into his left arm. /I can't stand up to a whole lot more of this/ He grunted, knocking aside Ferric's sword with a sideways sweep of his blade.  
  
//He's tired too// I thought for a moment as Dart rolled to one side, avoiding a stroke that shattered a piece of the stone railing surrounding the platform. //His technique is different than yours// I noted. //Maybe if you try an older combo that he wouldn't have seen before, he won't be able to respond in time to block all of it//  
  
With another grunt, Dart jumped back, putting some distance between himself and his heaving opponent. As Ferric lifted his heavy sword once more in preparation to attack, Dart sprung forward, swinging his blade in a wild series of rapid strokes that he'd preformed so many times in the past that by now the came second nature to him. Taken by surprise by his opponent's sudden show of aggression, Ferric stumbled backwards trying to guard himself, his movements suddenly slow and clumsy as fatigue finally set in. Unable to protect himself, the cultist dragoon stiffened suddenly, then dropped to the ground with a gurgling sigh as Dart's blade drove in on an angle into his stomach to emerge dripping between his shoulder blades. As the cultist's lifeless body hit the flagstone, something rolled out of his loose shirt, clattering across the stones to come to a stop against Dart's boot.  
  
Stooping quickly, Dart reached down and plucked the golden spirit from where it lay cold and unresponsive on the flagstones. Straightening, he glared at the other two dragoons, holding his sword loosely in one hand while tucking the spirit of the Golden Dragon into its place on his belt next to the Violet Spirit. Down below, the flames had reached the base of the tree trunk and were slowly but steadily working their way up. /I think they're starting to have thoughts about their mortality/ Dart noted, eyes fixed firmly on Seth and Allison. /I think we could probably just scare them off. I don't really have all that much energy left to fight. Besides, they must be almost drained of their spiritual power by now anyhow/  
  
//Just transform. We don't have time to fight them if we're going to find Blano, although I'm starting to have some suspicions about where he might have sent him//  
  
/You don't think that he sent him to Ulara, do you?/  
  
//Probably. That would explain why the cultists haven't found him yet// Shortly after the Cygnet War there had been a portal link established between Ulara and the Forest. Out of necessity it had not been widely publicized, even among the winglies, because of Charle's request that Ulara remain more or less a secret. If Guraha had indeed sent Blano to Ulara by way of the portal, then the chances were that he was safe. But if this was true, why hadn't Guraha also gone to Ulara?  
  
As Dart activated the dragoon spirit lodged deep in his chest with a burst of silver-blue light, Allison and Seth exchanged nervous glances. The recovery of the divine dragoon spirit had never been documented or recorded, so the cultists that had never actually seen the divine armor probably thought that Dart was just using one of the dragoon stones that he had recovered at an earlier date. So you can imagine the surprise of the two when the light surrounding Dart consolidated into the rather inhumanly proportioned armor of the divine dragoon. They stared for a moment or two, and then as Dart raised the cannon took off uttering a series of startled oaths.  
  
Watching them go, Dart lowered his cannon. /They're good at running/ he commented as he stepped towards the wooden archway. There was moment's delay when we realized that Dart could not fit through the door in his present form, but the rising heat had made the wood brittle, so it was no great chore to simply enlarge the opening with his sword. Inside the room was dark and smelled of smoke, but not even the gloom could hide the scorch marks on the walls and ceiling. In the corner, there was a blackened pile of rubble and a hole in the wall where the lift to the upper platform had been. Walking over to it with his wings brushing the ceiling, Dart leaned over as best he could to inspect it. /Someone blasted this really well. The whole chute leading upwards has caved in/  
  
//That was probably Guraha's work// I mused. //It wouldn't stop them from reaching the portals, but it would definitely slow them down. Go back outside and up to the platform above here. With any luck, whatever's up there should answer all our questions//  
  
Above the tree line the night sky was stained a dusky red from the light of the fire and the air was thick with heavy, rolling palls of blackened smoke from the trees and burning homes below. Ash and sparks drifted about, carried on the vents of hot air formed by the flames. Landing on the rubble-strewn platform, one glance told me all I needed to know. The portals, both the one to Ulara and the one to Vellweb, lay in ruins, the sandstone blocks that had been used in their construction shattered into thousands of pieces over the stones. If I'd had a body of my own, I'd have let out a sigh of relief. //Blano is safe. Now let's get out of here//  
  
/But Meru and Guraha are still back there/  
  
I almost told him that the chances of them still being alive, even if Demara hadn't found them, were slim to nil, but I held myself back at the last moment. This was something that would be better for him if he saw it with his own eyes. And so we flew back over the flaming village to the other end near the portal where we'd left Meru to tend to her husband. Despite the flames, it didn't take long to find the building where we had left them. Or rather, the ruins of it. Dart stood silently for a moment or so, staring at the pair of bodies half-buried amidst the rubble. /She didn't dislike you as much as she pretended you know/ he said finally.  
  
I didn't really know how to respond to that. After all the years I'd known him, I would have expected an oath of vengeance or something of the sort. Dart had changed rather subtlety since that night in Seles a hundred or more years ago, but I couldn't quite put my claw on how. //I know// I responded, struggling slightly with the words. By nature, I was never really have been intended to have to come to face with much complex emotion, so I found translating how I felt into actual thought more than a little difficult. //I think that, well, let's say that if she did feel that way then the feeling was mutual// I said, a little gruffly. It didn't sound like much, but Dart seemed to get my meaning.  
  
/There's nothing we can do for them?/  
  
//We'd be best to leave them, Dart. This was their home, after all//  
  
/Right/ Dart took one last sad look, then turned away. As he did so, a slight glint of color caught his eye, standing out sharply against the gray stones. A mangled, bloody hand protruded from beneath a large pile of rubble, loosely clutching a clear blue stone. Crouching, he lifted the seemingly proffered item from the hand. /So they did get her after all/ He said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. Holding the Blue Sea Dragoon spirit tightly in his free hand, he propelled himself back into the air with his wings, not looking back.  
  
It wasn't until we were blasting over the mountains at the edge of the Death Frontier that I realized why Dart was acting the way he was. When I was created, I was never really intended to die. For this reason I had overlooked the simple fact that humans weren't supposed to live forever. They form attachments with people, places, and for the most part, those things are around for as long or longer than they are. But in Dart's case it would be him outliving everything. People, places, all would change and die while he continued on. And now with the death of Meru and Guraha, all ties to the life he had once left were completely severed. He was truly alone, and nothing could ever change that fact.  
  
And even though it really was my fault, I actually found that I felt sorry for the guy. 


	17. Garren

^^ Energy is my friend! Except for when it deserts me utterly!  
  
Feel happy. I got tired of spending so much time trying to remember how I was getting the plot from Point A to Point B, so I took the trouble of typing up a little game plan for myself before all memory of what was happening here got erased from my little mind. This should help speed up the updates, now that I don't have to bang my head on a wall for several days trying to remember what exactly I was going to do. So from here into Part Two (Yes, there are two parts to this thing. Guard your sanity well, for it may well decide to steal whatever was left of it. Hell, it's already taken mine ^^;) things should run a little more smoothly.  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
It was almost a month before we returned to Ulara. I hadn't been in any particular hurry to get back, so we'd taken a ship to Doneau and rented a horse for the trip across the intervening plains, barrens, and mountains that make up the geography of the kingdom of Tiberoa. I did let him go before we reached the Death Frontier though. The desert is home to many animals, but the horse is not one of them. This isn't to say that the trip was very enjoyable for me either; walking across the burning sands clothed in black during the heat of the day was not my idea of a pleasant trip, so we traveled only at night. After three nights of this, we finally came to the ruined tower where the teleport was situated. The sun was just beginning to rise in the east over the craggy pinnacles of rusted red stone far in the distance that marked the edges of the Death Frontier as I climbed the cracked and worn steps that led into the semi-circle of sandstone blocks that were all that remained of the ancient tower. Pausing just before I reached the teleport pad, I stared out across the barrens, waves of heat already beginning to flicker in the distance even though the sun had only half-risen over the jagged peaks.  
  
/Pretty/ I remarked, for no real reason other than to just break the silence. Ragnarok had been rather quiet during the return trip, barring his thoughts quite firmly from my mind. I'd tried to break through once or twice, more to annoy him than out of any real curiosity, but both times he'd repelled me sharply, warning me to keep my thoughts in my head where they belonged. I almost pointed out to him that he -was- in my head technically, but I thought the better of it at the last minute.  
  
//Mrrmmmph// Ragnarok grunted, his mind elsewhere. //Admiring the scenery doesn't accomplish very much, I've noticed. Why don't you just hop back into Ulara? Unless you'd prefer frying what little brains you have out in this oven for another day//  
  
/Testy/ I commented. /What's got you all worked up now?/  
  
//It's this blasted sun//  
  
That was a new one. /I thought you couldn't feel what I do unless you wanted to/  
  
//Only to a point. This heat gets even to me after a while//  
  
/Oh/ I stepped onto the sand-covered pad, watching as its faint glow flickered into life. There was a slight roaring sound, the twinge of pain in the back of my mind that always seemed to accompany wingly magic, and then the world around me winked briefly out of sight. When it reappeared I was standing in the infinitely cooler atmosphere of Ulara.  
  
Caron, the gatekeeper, stood to one side of the master portal seemingly unperturbed by my sudden appearance. "You certainly took your time getting back here," she said by way of greeting. "Charle was almost starting to lose her patience."  
  
"Almost. Charle never seems to be quite able to step over the line into actual annoyance," I responded, giving the gatekeeper a slight smile. "Hello Caron, long time no see."  
  
"And the same to you," she said, inclining her head slightly. "Now go see Charle before she comes looking for you and that dragon of yours."  
  
//Better get moving, Dart// Ragnarok advised, ignoring Caron's last comment. //If we have to talk to that overdressed wingly then I'd like to get it over with as quickly as possible//  
  
We found Charle seated contentedly beside a flowerbed filled with rather menacing looking biting mandrakes. I noticed that although Charle seemed quite happy to sit amidst the potentially dangerous mandrakes, all else in the area gave them a wide berth, keeping one eye on the swaying plants at all times. I thought her brave until a second thought slipped into my head, one I was positive was much more accurate. She wasn't necessarily brave; the plants actually seemed to be afraid of the tiny wingly woman. For a moment I could actually picture her warning the vicious plants about biting her and waving little pink bows in front of them to back up her threats.  
  
"Dart Honey-pie!" Charle waved me over, beaming and patting the stone bench beside her. "Have a seat, sweetie."  
  
"Ah, I think I'd rather stand," I told her, looking at the mandrakes weaving back and forth behind her meaningfully.  
  
"What, you're afraid of my friends?" She gave a rueful sigh. "Poor children. Nobody wants to go anywhere near them unless they're asleep. But they wouldn't hurt a fly!" She said happily, turning to beam at one such plant that had been slowly creeping forward towards her, mouth partially open. As she smiled broadly at it, the mandrake actually seemed to draw back cringing from her.  
  
//Smart plant// Ragnarok muttered.  
  
I cleared my throat. "Thanks the same, but I think I'll stand. Caron said that you wanted to ask me about something?"  
  
"Oh, it's nothing really. I just wanted to get a feeling as to how things stand in the world right now. Poor Blano is at his wits end trying to figure out what happened after that sweet boy Guraha popped him through the portal here." Getting to her feet and giving her long skirt a shake, she started down the walkway that led to the oddly shaped building that housed the living quarters. "He's staying in a room down near the forest right now, the poor old dear," she said fondly. "I'll send someone down to fetch him."  
  
Garren's POV:  
  
Ulara's one of the most peaceful places on earth at most times, but unfortunately it's also the most boring. Sure, agelessness has its pros, but sometimes I think that the cons outweigh them. The big problem with Ulara is that everything is always the same: the same shops, same people, even the same damned clothing styles. It would be a little more bearable if they'd actually let us out into the real world once in a while, but Charle imposed a decree about seven thousand years before I was born that leaving Ulara would be strictly forbidden under any but the most dire of circumstances. And to tell you the truth, after living for four hundred years in boring, constant monotony, I was plain sick of it.  
  
The only thing that ever really happened was when Rose and the dragoons came around just over a hundred years or so ago. For maybe a month or two after they left, Ulara was stirred up into something that was almost, but not quite, excitement as the dragoons struggled to stop Charle's brother Melbu. Then, once that was over and done with, the whole town settled back into its usual sleepy calm as though nothing had ever happened. The next real stir-up hadn't come about until a few months ago when a Moon Child was born on some island out in Illisa Bay. Dart Field, the dragoon who had come to live at Ulara as Rose's replacement a couple of decades or so after the whole Moon crisis, was sent out to hunt it down. I'd seen the guy a few times before, but I'd never really had much of a chance to talk to him. Besides, it was rumored that he shared his body with the Lord of Dragons and that fact made me rather nervous. Winglies and dragons have never really been on great terms with one another, and the Divine Dragon is legendary for his powers of mass destruction. Not the most stimulating agent for a conversation, even if he was contained within a human body.  
  
Presently, Ulara was probably the most active it had been since Rose had returned. Blano, the ancient elder of the Wingly forest to the north, had arrived though one of the portals about a month ago when his village had come under attack by the cultists who supported the Moon Child. Since then he'd been staying in the forest below the town, quietly mourning the loss of his home and the lives of his friends in solitude. Shortly afterward a dragon had appeared outside the town, staying outside for almost a week before someone finally found the courage to go outside and find out what it wanted. Apparently Dart had sent him to guard a cygnet or something. Most of the elders were somewhat skeptical, but Charle had accepted the beast's story without question and allowed him within the town. He now lived in a cavern behind one of the many waterfalls, venturing out into the desert surrounding Ulara once or twice a day to make sure that all was well.  
  
"Pretty sad when the most interesting thing happening in your home is a couple of new house guests," I muttered to myself under my breath. I lay on my back on the side of a fountain out back of the living quarters, dangling my hand in the cool water as I stared up at the sky above. Or at least, what passed as the sky in Ulara. The town is inclosed in a sort of shimmering dome of magic that keeps the passage of time at more or less a standstill. The actual atmosphere inside Ulara, everything from the climate to what the sky looks like is artificial, changing only when necessity demands it. Today the 'sky' was a pale blue, with a few wispy looking clouds scuttling along the upper reaches of the dome. Perfect. Just how a sky should look in a place like this.  
  
In fact, it was so perfect that it made me want to puke.  
  
"Why couldn't it rain for a change?" I burst out suddenly.  
  
My friend Nova, seated on the bench next to the fountain, looked up from her book. "It rained yesterday, Garren," She reminded me, an exasperated look coming to her features. She knew what was coming; we'd had this particular argument hundreds of times before.  
  
"It always rains on Tuesdays. Why can't it rain on a Wednesday for a change?" I thought about it for a moment. "Or maybe it should snow once in a while."  
  
"Why don't you ask Charle?" Nova said sweetly, effectively cutting off the argument. "In fact, here she comes now."  
  
I sat up quickly. Sure enough, Charle was walking through the door between the living quarters and the courtyard, chatting happily with a sandy-haired man dressed entirely in black with a sword clasped to his belt, its naked blade glinting in the morning light. As they drew closer I recognized him to be Dart Field. Sliding off the side of the fountain and getting to my feet, I waved to Charle. " 'Lo, Charle," I called. "Nice weather we're having today." I added rather sarcastically.  
  
If Charle had heard the sarcasm, she ignored it. "Garren sweetie! Just the boy I was looking for!" She said, beaming at me. "Would you mind fetching Blano for us? Tell him that Dart and Arkie are back."  
  
I glanced over at Dart, who had cringed noticeably when Charle had said the name 'Arkie', but kept my mouth shut. Charle was rather infamous for concocting strange pet names for people, so I wasn't really surprised. Nodding, I strolled over to the edge of the courtyard and hopped onto the low wall. About fifty feet or so below the sea of tree tops swayed gently in the breeze, their leafs whispering quietly as they brushed against one another. I waited until the breeze subsided, then jumped off the wall and into open space. I let myself free fall for about thirty feet or so before letting my wings open, slowing gradually and coming to a complete stop a few feet above the nearest treetop. Closing my wings and dropping into the upper branches of the tree nearest to me, I climbed down the broad trunk and jumped to the ground.  
  
I found Blano sitting near the base of one of the waterfalls, watching the brook trout swimming lazily just beneath the turbulent surface. He did not turn as I approach, but instead sighed, a wistful sound bearly audible over the thunder of the falls. "Why do you intrude upon my peace in my time of mourning, young one?" He asked. His voice had been gentle, but I caught a hint of steel in it.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ancient One," I said, half bowing respectively, "but Charle sent me to inform you that Dart has returned. They're up in the main courtyard right now waiting for you."  
  
The frail seeming old man sighed again and left his place beside the river. "I suppose that I should," He said, "Although I fear that the news he brings shall be unpleasant."  
  
"Would you like some assistance?" I asked, unsure of what to do.  
  
Blano shook his head. "That will not be necessary." He closed his eyes and his face grew momentarily serene. Then, with a flash of pale green light, he disappeared.  
  
I stared at the place where he had stood but a moment before, then quickly re-gathered my wits. Frowning slightly and closing my eyes, I summoned up all my strength and prepared to make the jump from where I now stood to the courtyard fifty feet or more above me. Teleporting is a difficult magic to master, and even though my magic skills were considerable, it still was a hard trick for me to pull off. Holding the image of the courtyard above firmly in my mind I released my spell slowly, not wanting to mess up and land myself in the fountain like I had last time. There was a particular wrench in my gut, a sudden sensation of rapid motion, and then I opened my eyes to see where I had landed myself.  
  
My aim wasn't too bad this time. I stood balanced precariously on the wall of the platform, my arms windmilling slightly as I fought to keep my balance. When I was sure that I wasn't about to fall, I hopped off the wall and back onto the platform, suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on me.  
  
"Much better," Charle congratulated me. "You didn't even get wet this time."  
  
I turned slightly red as Dart gave me an odd look, but was grateful when he didn't say anything. Instead he turned back to Blano, who had seated himself on the white stone bench near the fountain. Nova, I noticed absently, seemed to have left as soon as the others had appeared. Then, because I was bored and couldn't really think of anything better to do, I wandered over to the shade of the wall and sat down to eavesdrop.  
  
"You said that you wanted to hear what happened back at the forest?" Dart asked Blano politely, seating himself on the lip of the fountain.  
  
"Yes."  
  
He scratched the back of his neck with one hand. "I'm afraid it's not good. The cultists set fire to the forest when they couldn't find you. The last I heard, Queen Salisa of Deningrad had ordered all hunters, trappers, and woodsmen in the area to pull down a fire break to try to keep it away from the towns. The sounds of their axes echo from the Mortal Dragon Mountain to the most southernmost reaches of the Evergreen Forest."  
  
"What about my home?" Blano asked, although the look on his face spoke louder than words that he already knew what had come to pass.  
  
"I'm sorry Blano, but the cultists pretty much destroyed all but the most permanent of structures. The only thing that I can really be sure of is still standing is the teleporting platforms, but Guraha must have destroyed the portals themselves after he got you to safety because they were in compete ruin."  
  
"What about Meru and Guraha?" He asked, a slightly desperate sound coming into his voice. When Dart only hung his head, shaking it slightly, the Wingly Elder looked stricken. "Was it the cultists?"  
  
Dart nodded. "A rogue Wingly named Demara. She must have attacked them while I was searching for you." He rubbed his forehead with one hand. "Demara stole Meru's dragoon spirit while she was hiding the cygnet, so there was very little they could do to fight her. It seems though, that they managed to kill her before she could kill them, even though they sacrificed themselves in the process." As he spoke, he unfastened something from his belt and held it out for the wingly elder to examine. I craned my neck, trying to get a better look at the object, but whatever it was it was small enough I couldn't see it until he opened his hand.  
  
It was a small, brilliantly blue stone, about the same color as the water sparking in the rivers down below us. Passing the thing to Blano, he let him examine it for a moment or two before resetting it into his belt. "I found this near Demara's body."  
  
Blano straightened slightly, although grief was still etched into his features. "She has paid the ultimate price for her betrayal then," he said solemnly. Then he sighed, and slumped back down onto the bench.  
  
"Blano, stow the grief for a minute. We've got more important things to talk about."  
  
I looked sharply at Dart, who had risen to his feet as he spoke. There was something different about the way that he held himself: his arms were crossed on his chest and his shoulders were squared. There was a regal bearing about him that hadn't been there before; even his voice had changed slightly.  
  
"Ragnarok." Blano said in greeting, his voice hard. "I see that the past few weeks have hardly changed you."  
  
"Blano, I haven't changed my ways since I was created. Why would I bother changing them now?" He turned to Charle, but I noticed that he avoided looking directly into her eyes. "Charle."  
  
"You really didn't have to be that mean, Arkie," She chided. "There are nicer ways to say things."  
  
More than a little confused by these proceedings, I decided that this might be a good time to withdraw. Getting to my feet and staying close to the wall, I crept back through the door and into the main building. I waited to see if anyone had noticed me, then turned to head back out to the gardens out front.  
  
It wasn't until night that I ran into Dart again. It was about eleven o' clock or so, and the dome above our heads reflected the image of the true night sky for once. It was a clear night, with only a few wispy looking tendrils of pale cloud drifting across the star filled sky. The Moon was particularly bright, its light giving a particularly silver cast to everything it touched. I was making my way back from the tavern, something that had become something of a nightly ritual for me of late. Under normal circumstances I'd stay at the bar until about one in the morning or so and drink until I started singing or fell off the bench, but for some reason tonight I didn't feel like getting drunk.  
  
Dart was sitting on the wall along the walkway that led from the bar to the teleporting platforms, absently examining a small gleaming object that caught the moonlight in such a way that it set it to sparkling brightly in the darkness. Seeing him sitting there I paused, unsure of whether or not I should continue on or let him be. But before I could make up my mind, he spoke.  
  
"So you heard what happened?"  
  
So he'd noticed that I'd sat in on his conversation. Not that I'd tried to hide. "Yeah."  
  
"So what do you think? About all that's going on, I mean." He turned to look at me. "Garren, wasn't it?"  
  
I nodded, then shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not really sure. Was the Forest really destroyed?"  
  
He nodded. "I'm afraid so. The cultist dragoons set fire to the Forest just before I arrived."  
  
"Cultist Dragoons?" That was new to me.  
  
Dart gave me a funny look. "Just how much did Charle tell you about what happened?"  
  
"Next to nothing. How did the cultists manage to get their hands on the spirits? Charle said that you were supposed to be guarding them."  
  
"That's true, but I think the story you were told might have gotten a little garbled somewhere along the line." He looked back down at the crystalline object he held in one hand. "I guard what spirits I have. Part of what I'm doing right now is recovering them from the cult."  
  
"But how'd they get them in the first place?" I wanted to know.  
  
He laughed. "You sure you're up to a long story? Telling you everything could take a while."  
  
Plunking myself down on the wall next to him, I grinned. "Try me." Despite my former apprehension about the fact that the Divine Dragon lurked somewhere within his mind, I found that I couldn't help but begin to like the man.  
  
Dart shrugged. "Okay, but just remember: you asked for it." Tilting his head back slightly to look up at the moon, he started. At first I asked questions, but I eventually stopped as his story slowly began to drag me in. There was something strangly compelling about the way he spoke, as though there was always something more to what he meant than what he actually said.  
  
When he finally finished, the hour was late. I sat quietly on the wall, digesting what I'd just heard as Dart got to his feet and stretched, slipping the dragoon spirit he'd been fingering through the duration of the story back into its place on his belt. Picking his sword up from where it had lain on the stones beside him, he clipped it back on. "I think it's time I hit the sack," he yawned. "Ark hates having to deal with me when I'm grumpy." Pulling his tattered coat closer about him, he started off in the direction of the living quarters.  
  
"Hey! You going to be around for a while?" I called after him.  
  
He paused then turned back around. "I guess so. I'd like to go after the cult, but I don't think I'd be able to accomplish a whole lot right now. The whole incident in the Forest is likely to be blamed on me, and not being able transform without causing a general uproar would make wiping them out more than a little difficult."  
  
"You can tell me about all that stuff that happened while you and your friends were chasing Lloyd and fighting the Virage Embryo, then?"  
  
"You really like stories that much?"  
  
I grinned. "After listening to the same tired old tales for the past three hundred years or so, yeah. Besides, none of them were as interesting as this."  
  
Now it was Dart's turn to grin. "I guess so, then. Goodnight."  
  
I waited until the sound of his footsteps had faded, then turned my attention back to the stars above. I'm not quite sure how long I sat there thinking, but by the time I finally gave up and went back to my room the horizon had begun to pale with false dawn. I'm not usually a deep thinker, but Dart's tale had given me something to consider. Ulara was caught up rather intimately in the struggle between the Black Monster and the Moon Child, but it seemed to me that we were doing very little compared to what we could do. I'm not sure when it was, but at some point I made the decision to change that, even if it meant breaking the decree and leaving Ulara.  
  
  
  
For those of you who asked for another new character, there you go. I've had Garren swimming around in my head for quite a while, and now I finally found an opening for him in the story. I would have put him in regardless, but the requests and suggestions were rather encouraging, no? 


	18. Solution

I should probably mention now that time isn't always going to follow its normal course in this story. I have many, many years that I have to cover, and I'm not going to write a detailed account of each year. So if you suddenly find that around chapter 24 Ark's talking about the seventh moon child and I've only actually written in three actual chapters with moon children, it's just because those fights or whatever were relatively uneventful and that they only really need to be noted in passing.  
  
**Dream sequence**  
  
  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
Sometimes it amazes me how time runs. Sometimes it seems to fly past, leaving little or no time to do anything but respond to whatever may happen, while other times it seems to just creep along. In Ulara, one can never tell what course time has chosen to take, simply because one day blends smoothly into the next without change or extraordinary circumstances. And so it is that decades, even centuries may pass without one noticing. However, unfortunately for Dart, we routinely receive a rather rude awakening from this timelessness every one hundred and eight years or so.  
  
** The sun was just beginning to rise over the thatched rooftops of the city of Bale, its pale gold rays bathing the upper windows of the houses facing east in a warm light. On the western side of the buildings the streets still lay in shadow, but even here the cool air of the spring morning was beginning to warm, a silent promise of the day to come. Here and there the shopkeepers began to open their doors, inviting whatever early customers in who might be out wandering the streets. And sure enough, before the sun had fully risen to steal away the shadows, people began to roam the streets, moving and talking quietly to avoid waking those households still slumbering as they went about their business.  
  
However, there was one in the streets who did not have any reason to deal with the merchants, nor did he have any wish to. Marrak strode through the streets with a lofty expression on his face, straightening his long green and white robes as he did so. Pausing before a low building, hardly larger than a large shed, he pushed open the heavy plank door and stepped through.  
  
The room inside was low beamed the ceiling hardly more than six feet high in some spots. A fire burned brightly in the far corner, filling the crowded room with a sweltering heat and more than a little smoke. And the room was crowded; three other men, dressed in a similar fashion to Marrak stood along the walls or sat on the rickety furniture. At the far end of the room was a second plank door, this one leading to the small bedroom where a midwife helped with the laboring women who owned the house. At least, that was what Marrak hoped was happening. The house had been eerily silent since he entered.  
  
When the cries of an infant finally broke the silence, Marrak breathed a sigh of relief. The woman to whom the child belonged was not robust, and there had been debate over whether or not she was strong enough to bear the child when the cult's astrologers had named her the mother of the Moon Child. Rosalyn, the child's mother, had been a widow since six months ago and with the loss of her husband, had lost the will to live. It was only because of the sometimes forceful care of cult members like Marrak that Rosalyn was still alive and strong enough to give birth to the infant  
  
Marrak was snapped out of his reverie when the bedroom door opened to reveal the tired face of the midwife Dessa. Her hair was in disarray and her clothes stained, but in her arms she held a small, cloth wrapped bundle that cried weakly as she held it gently to her. Wordlessly Donovan, the high priest of the cult in Bale, held out his arms to take the child from her.  
  
"She was too weak," Dessa told him as she gave up the child. "Rosalyn couldn't survive the stress of labor."  
  
"She sacrificed herself to bring the Moon Child into the world, midwife Dessa." Donovan proclaimed in his quavering voice. "Know this and be comforted, for someday soon the fruit of her sacrifice shall bring a Utopia to those of us who are truly faithful." Turning to Marrak, the high priest lowered his voice. "We shall bring the child to the temple. Go and alert Zen. We will need him on his guard."  
  
"Zen?" Marrak asked, startled. "Are you sure he's ready?"  
  
Donovan glared at Marrak. "He will have to be. We cannot bring enough of our forces into Bale to guard the child, so we are depending on him as our protection."  
  
"Are you sure that's really wise?"  
  
"It is all we can do." Donovan said simply. "Anymore would attract the attention of the King."  
  
"But he is not opposed to us, is he?"  
  
"But he is not with us either. Go, Marrak. You have much to do 'ere darkness falls."**  
  
"Dart! Dart, get up!"  
  
Dart groaned as Garren jabbed him sharply in his side, but didn't bother moving. /Would it be okay if I just slept through the next few weeks?/ He asked, his thought sounding slightly plaintive in my mind.  
  
//Of course, if you don't mind letting me handle this child. I can't guarantee that Bale will still be in one piece when I'm done, but you can't have everything in life//  
  
Dart made a disgusted sound, then rolled off of the bench he had been dozing on and got to his feet. "What do you want, Garren?" He asked, even though we both already knew what the answer would be. Sometimes Dart's need to question the obvious gets on my nerves at times, but I get the feeling that he did it more to set others at ease when he knew things that from their point of view he shouldn't.  
  
"Charle says a Moon Child was born," he said, his red eyes glittering in the pale light, "In Bale, I think. Anyway, she said to meet her out by the portals."  
  
Dart glanced up at the sky above. It looked to be about midnight, although I couldn't be sure. With the birth of the Moon Child the moon burned with a dusky red light, and the glow did strange things to the night sky; in its light some stars seemed unnaturally bright while others disappeared entirely. The alien sky would make any sort of navigation or time estimates nearly impossible while we traveled. //Let's get moving Dart. Don't keep the woman waiting//  
  
Garren tagged along after us as Dart made his way across the maze of walkways towards the portals, but disappeared into the living quarters without a word as we passed by. I guessed that Charle must have spoken to him rather firmly before she sent him, because not once did he mention coming with us, which was something I considered a serious lapse of character. After listening to just about every story Dart and I could come up with over the past years, it seemed that he couldn't open his mouth without another question about the outside world. Lately these outbursts had settled into bouts of thoughtful musing about the different ways he might try to sneak past Charle's security measures. For the most part Tygris and Dart had laughed these musings off, but we had told the wingly leader to keep an eye on him. Charle hadn't spoken directly to Garren up until now, but the guard around the portals had been noticeably tightened. //He's up to something// I muttered, half to my self.  
  
/Probably, but there's nothing we can really do about it/  
  
//I know. That's what bothers me// I growled. I didn't care personally about  
  
Ulara's taboos and whatnot, but if Garren did manage to somehow follow us, then he could become a serious hindrance. Garren had never been outside of Ulara before and aside from practicing with his magic from time to time, I was fairly sure that he would have very little idea of how to fight one on one, much less in a melee.  
  
Charle stood waiting for us once more at the portals, talking earnestly to Caron and the second gatekeeper Roan. She had dropped out of her customary mode of speech and now spoke with more normal phrasing, although she still continued to add the unnecessary 'ie' ending to words from time to time. When she noticed our approach, she turned to meet us with a large smile on her face. Inwardly, I groaned. She could be normal around everyone else under circumstances like this, but the moment we came into the conversation she automatically tried to make things seem happy and cheerful. Never mind that her 'cheerfulness' made me feel sick to my non-existent stomach.  
  
"Dart, sweetie! Are you already to go?" She asked in a bright tone of voice. "Will you need anything? Those dears down at the shops have agreed that you can take whatever you need free of charge."  
  
Dart's hand dipped into the pockets of his jacket as he took a quick inventory. By custom he always kept a good stock of items on him at all times, just incase he had to leave on short notice. "I think we'll be fine," he said finally. "I could use a few spirit potions, but we'll probably pick up a few off monsters on the way."  
  
//Move over//  
  
/You want to talk to her?/ Dart sounded surprised.  
  
//Yes// I shoved his mind rather unceremoniously to one side and took over. "Charle, did you talk to Garren? I don't want to get out there and suddenly find him trailing along behind us."  
  
"Yes. The poor dear didn't seem too pleased by it though." Charle sighed. "He gets too bored of Ulara, I fear. Can you believe that the darling actually asked if I could make it snow?" Charle shook her head. "Can you imagine that? All of Ulara smothered under a blanket of cold, wet, white fluff?" She shuddered, then paused. "Although it would look rather pretty."  
  
Pushing me back again, Dart stepped past Caron and onto the green portal tile, tightening his sword belt. "Where will this drop me off?" He asked, tugging on the leather strap.  
  
"On the outskirts of the Death Frontier. We don't have enough collective strength right now to send you any farther, I'm afraid." Caron sighed. "There have been so few births lately. I guess the prospect of bringing a child into a world of eternal life in containment is starting to seem rather hollow. Garren and his friend Nova were among the last to be born, and you can see how dissatisfied they are with their lives spent in one place."  
  
The portal below us began to hum, the faint green glow slowly growing into a light so bright that Dart was forced to close his eyes as the magic reached its peak. Dart flinched slightly as the wingly magic stung the back of his mind, but otherwise he did nothing. The world suddenly turned to a fluorescent green, and the sound of rushing air began to obliterate all other noise, but not fast enough to block out Charle's rather degrading farewell.  
  
"Tootle-loo Arkie!"  
  
Garren's POV:  
  
Getting out of Ulara was easier than I had thought it would be. After several days of pondering, it finally came to me that my ticket out of Ulara lay not with the portals, but with a certain bird-dragon that made his home behind one of Ulara's many waterfalls.  
  
Dart had introduced me to Tygris shortly after I met him. After I got over my initial qualms of being so close to such a monster, I actually found that I liked him. I couldn't speak or understand much of the draconic language, but he understood more than enough of the common tongues, even if he couldn't speak them. So when I left Dart and Ragnarok that night, instead of going back up to my room, I slipped back out into the courtyard. Stopping only long enough to retrieve my bag from where I'd tossed it near the fountains, I slung it across my shoulders and jumped up onto the railing. I wobbled for a moment, trying to balance myself on the narrow stone rail, then let myself fall backwards into empty space. I let myself fall until I was sure that I'd be out of sight, then flipped upright and ghosted across the treetops towards the waterfalls.  
  
It took me a moment to locate the cave opening in the darkness, half covered by a screen of falling water. Landing on a narrow shelf of rock just outside of the opening, I edged along it until I stood inside the cave itself. Over the course of thousands of years water dripping down the walls of the cave had worn them smooth; here and there veins of quartz as thick as my arm broke through the walls, letting in the light reflecting through it from the sky above. A sort of soft, damp moss covered the floor, muffling the sounds of my footsteps as I strode cautiously towards the back of the cave. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a rumpled blanket lying on a ledge; Dart occasionally came up here to sleep when he needed quiet or the bedrooms became too hot to rest in comfort.  
  
There was a rustle of wings, and a low, tired voice rumbled out of the darkness in the back of the cave. Most of what the voice said was unintelligible jumble, but I managed to pick out 'go away' and 'sleep'. Tygris seemed to be half asleep; when I strained my eyes I could see him sprawled across the mossy stones next to a pool of water, the tip of his tail twitching slightly in the shallows.  
  
"Tygris, it's me, Garren. Would it hurt for you to wake up a minute?"  
  
"Yes," he growled back, but he did lift up his head. "What'dya want?"  
  
Wordlessly I pointed up at the sky, a patch of it visible where some of the cave's ceiling had fallen in. Hardly visible through the gap could be seen the Moon, it's red glow staining the sky around it.  
  
Tygris followed my gaze. "That's very pretty," he yawned, "But what does it mean?"  
  
Sometimes I find it hard to believe Dart that this is the same dragon that challenged Ragnarok in the Forgotten Lands in the East. Somehow I couldn't picture this sleepy, bluish creature delivering a formal challenge to the dragon lord the way Dart had told me. Maybe to a sleeping contest, but definitely not to one on one combat. "The Moon looks like that," I explained with exaggerated patience, "because a Moon Child was just born. Dart just left to hunt it."  
  
" 'sat all?" Tygris dropped his head back onto the moss. "Why didn't you wait until morning to tell me that?"  
  
Gritting my teeth, I strode over and seated myself on the bird-dragon's ribcage. Tygris lifted his head to look at me, his eyes confused. "Listen, Tygris. Don't you ever get bored of always having to stay here in Ulara?"  
  
"Well-"  
  
"You used to live outside. Don't you miss it?"  
  
"I guess-"  
  
"Right. Now Dart's going after the Moon Child, but don't you think he'd be better off if someone were there to watch his back for him? I know he's the Divine Dragoon and has Ragnarok on his side and all that, but even with that it sounds like he ran into some problems last time." Grinning at the look on Tygris' face, I pushed my hair back out of my face. "What if we were to follow along behind him? He doesn't have to know we're there; we'll just keep an eye on him and if it looks like he needs help, we'll help him."  
  
"I'm supposed to be guarding the cygnet though!" Tygris protested.  
  
"With Dart going after their Moon Child, do you really think that the cult is going to go after the cygnet? They have bigger problems right now. Anyhow, they'd still have to get past the winglies, and I know some of my friends can be pretty nasty when they're annoyed." I slid off the dragon's side and onto the mossy ground. "I can't get outside of the barrier on my own, but if you carried me, no one would ask any questions. You're allowed to come and go as you please, so as long as no one saw me we'd be fine."  
  
"Charle'll be mad when she finds out." Tygris said dubiously, but I could see that he'd already made up his mind on the matter.  
  
"We won't be around when she does though." I moved out of the way as Tygris got to his feet. He stretched, then lowered his neck so that I could climb aboard. It took me a moment to figure out a way I could sit without falling off, but I finally settled myself just in front of his wing joints, holding tightly to the crest of feathers at the base of his neck to balance myself. The dragon took a few cautious steps forward, then when he was sure I wasn't about to fall off, launched himself forward into a loping run towards the mouth of the cave. Leaping straight through the watery screen, he soared noiselessly out over the forests and buildings of Ulara, angling steadily upward towards the top of the dome. I didn't realize that we'd reached the top until the illusion of sky broke, revealing a shimmering wall of magic before us just seconds before we plunged through.  
  
For the first time, I saw the world as it really was. Tygris turned westward, wings beating steadily as we passed over seemingly endless acres of red sand, the color accented by the ruddy light of the Moon. The stars seemed farther away then they had in Ulara, but they shone more brightly in the chill night air of the desert. I shuddered as a cold wind suddenly kicked up behind us, then quite suddenly began to laugh. I'd done it. I had left Ulara behind for the rest of the world, the one thing that the elders of the town didn't have the courage to do.  
  
Still smiling broadly I leaned back slightly, enjoying the feel of the wind through my hair as we rode the air currents eastward. From the height we were at I could see the edge of the horizon beginning to glow with the coming of dawn, although it wouldn't reach us for hours yet. That was okay. I was patient. And so I was, my stomach still fluttering with the excitement of my newfound freedom, perched precariously on the narrow back of a dragon, awaiting the first true sunrise of my life.  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
I twisted my body to one side, bringing my sword down in a vicious arc across the armored back of my opponent. The keen blade bit through the normally resistant shell, drawing a thin line of greenish blood from the body of the oversized bug. Jumping into the air to avoid a counterstrike from the monster's pincers, I flipped over and used my momentum to help drive the blade deep into the body of the insect. It gave a shrill scream, a sound somewhat akin to a whistle, then dropped to the ground, its segmented body parts twitching as the last of its life drained away.  
  
Heaving the sword from the cracked exoskeleton, I wiped the greenish blood from the blade with a dirty rag. /How's that?/  
  
//Good enough// Ragnarok said critically. //We can work on it some more later on, but you should be able to fly to Bale on this with no problem//  
  
We stood at the edge of the Death Frontier, not far from where the portal had dumped us a couple of hours ago. It was quite a distance to Bale from here still, but Ark figured we could make it there by sometime late tonight - if I could fly straight through the day with no stops. After pondering the problem for a while, Ark had finally came up with what he thought might be a solution. It was more in the nature of an experiment, but it definitely had some possibilities. He reasoned that if reserves of magic power could be held in my human form until I became a dragoon, then why shouldn't I be able to do the same thing with spirit power? If I could manage to keep a second reserve of spiritual power held back until I really needed it as a dragoon, then I could be able to double or even triple the time I could spend in dragoon form. Ark thought that he may be able to hold the reserves for me, at least until my body adapted enough that it could hold it on its own. So for the past several hours I had wandered along the outskirts of the Death Frontier, hunting the various species of animals and insects so that I might gain enough spiritual energy to satisfy Ark.  
  
/What now?/ I asked, letting myself slump to the ground for a brief rest.  
  
//Once you get your breath back, we can head out. The sooner we get to Bale the better//  
  
/Good enough/ I flopped onto my back, staring up at the fading stars in the predawn sky. The Moon still carried its reddish glow, although it had faded noticeably since last night. Closing my eyes, I tried to make the best of my brief resting period. After this, things were only going to get more difficult.  
  
I think that I had actually begun to drift off to sleep when I heard the rustle and click of mandibles somewhere above me. I came fully awake as something sharp pierced the skin of my left leg; the flesh around the wound burned for a moment, then went dead with paralysis. Slowly opening my eyes, I let my hand inch over to where my sword lay on the sand.  
  
It was a sand scorpion. I'd killed three or four earlier, but evidently there were still a few around. This particular one was perched on my chest, it's barbed tail darkened with fresh blood. That explained my deadened leg, at least. My fingers brushed the hilt of my sword, but before I could get a grip on it the scorpion, seeing the movement of my hand, raised its tail once again, preparing to strike. Needless to say, I froze. The scorpion also froze, not seeming to want to strike until I made a move to.  
  
The sun slowly climbed higher into the sky, it's rays beginning to heat up the sand. /A little help here?/ I asked Ark, rather desperately.  
  
Ragnarok, however, was unsympathetic. //You shouldn't have dozed off like that// he told me flatly. //This is your problem, not mine//  
  
I called him a few names, but this did nothing to change his mind. Still grumbling, I turned my attention back to the huge scorpion settled on my chest. And still the sun rose higher. Under my black shirt and jacket, I began to perspire heavily.  
  
Relief finally came about an hour later, although not in any form that I would have expected. I was just starting to gather myself to make a quick reach and slash with the sword, when a fireball came sizzling out of seeming nowhere to collide with the scorpion, blasting it off my chest. Sitting up quickly and grabbing my sword, I prepared to finish the thing off, but there was no need. Whoever had shot it had killed the creature with the first blow. Hearing the sound of footsteps in the sand behind me, I twisted around to look.  
  
"See? I told you that he'd need our help." Garren hopped down from Tygris's back. "'Lo, Dart. How're you doing?"  
  
  
  
^-^ March break! Dude! One week of moderate freedom before getting dragged back into that thing that they insist on calling school. **performs happy dance**  
  
So Garren found a way out of Ulara without Charle finding out. All those who think Ark is gonna be pissed off say "Aye!" 


	19. Tagalongs

*A chibi-ized Ragnarok bounces past, holding up a sign reading 'Shade is a lousy updater!'. Directly below this is a crossed out message (THIS IS BENEATH MY DIGNATY!)  
  
*drooling over a boxed set of Rurouni Kenshin DVD's on ebay* Neeehhhh.  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
I stared incredulously at the grinning wingly and the slightly abashed dragon standing before me for about a minute and a half before I even realized that Ark had shoved me to one side and was now in control. I almost objected, but bit my tongue at the last second. The chances of Ark actually listening to me when he was like this were next to none anyhow.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Ragnarok roared, trying unsuccessfully to climb to his feet. The paralysis hadn't quite worn out of my leg yet, I guess. "I thought I told you to stay in Ulara!"  
  
"Actually, you never said-"  
  
"Shut up! Do you think this is some sort of game?" Ragnarok fumed. "There's a reason Charle keeps you winglies penned up in that hanging garden!"  
  
Garren shifted uncomfortably, but didn't back off. "What right does she have to do that? We're a free people! She shouldn't be allowed to do that. Why shouldn't we be allowed to go out into the world?"  
  
With a massive effort, Ark managed to wrestle his voice back down to a reasonable volume. "Has it ever occurred to you," he said, gritting his teeth, "that the reason that taboo was set into place wasn't to protect your self, but the rest of the world?"  
  
The wingly froze. "What do you mean?"  
  
"What I mean is that Ulara hasn't forgotten the technology of the winglies before the Dragon Campaign. They know how to make the airships, the generators, and most importantly, the weapons. What do you think might happen if a human ever got his greedy little paws on all of that? By leaving Ulara, you've just opened up the possibility that someone might be able to through you find a way back to Ulara and catch hold of that technology. And-" Ark growled glaring over at Tygris, who was crouched in the shadow of a rock, trying to make himself as invisible as possible, "on top of all that, you've taken the cygnet's guardian away!"  
  
"The cygnet will be fine! The cult isn't going to be able to even think about going after the cygnets while we're going after the-"  
  
"Don't finish that sentence." Ark snapped. "Dart and I are going after the Moon Child. You are going straight back to Ulara with Tygris."  
  
Now it was Garren's turn to glare. "If you think that I'm going to just give up and go back after I did all that work to get out of there, you have to be nuts. Ulara can guard itself; it has for thousands of years already anyhow. One wingly missing isn't going to make any difference. No one's going to find out anything about Ulara, because I'm not going to say a word. And the cygnet's fine on it's own. I don't even know where Charle hid it, and I've been looking for it ever since it came to Ulara."  
  
They stood there for quite a while, staring each other down. I have to hand it to him. For someone who was almost afraid of Ragnarok when he first met him, Garren could certainly hold his own against Ark in a glaring contest.  
  
Finally, after what seemed to be an interminable silence, I nudged Ark's mind. /We're wasting time/ I told him.  
  
//I know, but I'm not letting him come with us!//  
  
/Well what else can we do, really? We don't have time to run him back to Ulara, and if we leave him to go on his own, he'll just follow us/ When Ark said nothing, I sighed and rather forcefully pushed him to one side. "Garren, you're sure you want to come?"  
  
//What?!//  
  
Startled by the sudden switch, it took Garren a moment to respond. "Yeah. All we can do in Ulara is sit on the sidelines and cheer you on. I think that it's time that we actually bothered doing something." He cracked his knuckles and grinned.  
  
"You sure? They don't train you to fight in Ulara."  
  
"I've seen how you train. All you do is practice the same moves endlessly. Besides, how hard could fist fighting be?"  
  
Thousands of miles away, I was quite sure I could feel Haschel rolling over in his grave. "Haschel would kill you if he heard you say that, you know that?"  
  
Garren looked suddenly confused. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Haschel trained and studied the martial arts of the Rogue School all his life, right up until the day he died, and even he was never able to completely master all the arts. Just because you can throw a punch, doesn't mean you know how to fight."  
  
"Well, I still have magic to fall back on then." He pointed at the blackened corpse of the sand scorpion next to me. "If all else fails, I can always roast them."  
  
//Fool. He's completely oblivious to the truths of fighting. It's all just a game to him//  
  
/Isn't that all it is to you?/  
  
//I'm different. It's a game I take very seriously//  
  
"We'll have to figure something out when we get there," I said aloud. I rose slowly to my feet, keeping my weight on my good leg and leaning on my sword for balance. The paralisys was starting to wear off, but I still wouldn't be able to use my leg for a while yet. "How are you going to follow us? I'm not going to carry you, you know."  
  
Behind Garren, Tygris stirred in the shadows. "I'll carry him." He rumbled.  
  
"You sure? I move pretty fast once I'm in the air."  
  
"I'm a Bird-Dragon," Tygris sniffed. "I may be slower than you in a dogfight, but in the air on a straight stretch, there's nothing I can't keep up with."  
  
I smiled apologetically. "Sorry. All right then, we have to get to Bale for nightfall. They're going to have someone waiting for us, so we're going to have to get in there quietly. The fewer we have to kill, the better. The only ones we're after are the Moon Child and possibly some of the cult leaders, and a heavily populated city like Bale isn't a good place for a pitched battle with the entire chapter of the cult, as much as Ark would like to."  
  
"An assassination?" Garren looked slightly shocked.  
  
"That's what it amounts to, yes. Let's get moving. We don't have much time."  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
I wasn't very pleased with Dart's choice in the matter, but I had to admit that he had a point. Garren would be coming with us whether we liked it or not, and he'd only cause more trouble for us if we couldn't keep an eye on him. At least this way we could keep him out of trouble.  
  
Maybe.  
  
We reached the mountains outside of Bale sometime after nightfall. After parting with Tygris, who I flatly demanded return to Ulara, we started towards the city. We managed to get inside just before the gates closed for the night, convincing the sentries that we were just ordinary travelers. Garren's clothing raised some eyebrows, but no questions were asked. Winglies always seem to make ordinary humans seem nervous, for some reason.  
  
After picking up some plain clothes for Garren, Dart headed into the alleys near the waterfront. Seating himself or a rotting wooden crate, he pulled out a stone and began to whet his blade against it. /Where do you think the temple is that they were talking about?/  
  
//Probably somewhere near the center of town. Temples always seem to be right where they can attract the most attention, although this one probably won't be very large// I glanced over at Garren, who stood rather nervously near the mouth of the alley. We'd picked him up a set of knuckles from the weapons shop that were to be worn over leather gloves. He ran his fingers over the ridge of steel on his right hand, trying to get used to the feel of them. //How do you think the kid will do?//  
  
/I don't know. Why do you call him that? He's older than I am/  
  
//Only in years. That boy's mentality stopped developing about the time he turned fifteen, I'm positive// It was the truth. Garren looked to be at least twenty or so, but it wasn't very often that he acted his true age. Of course, there aren't many out there that is able to act three hundred with any grace. //I hope for his sake that he can fight better than we think//  
  
/You're not alone in that/ Dart fell silent, watching the lights from the town above play across his blade as he sharpened it. The spine chilling sound of the whetstone scraping along the edge of the glinting sword blade echoed through the alley, a grim promise of the violence yet to come.  
  
When the blade was finally honed, Dart got to his feet and sheathed the weapon. "You ready?" He asked, glancing over at Garren. I thought that the wingly looked more than a little nervous, but he nodded. Following Dart, he slipped out into the lamplit street, their soft boots making almost no sound on the cobblestones.  
  
It was surprisingly easy to find the temple. As I had thought it wasn't very large, although its small size did little to take away from its impressive appearance. Two great bonfires burned in deep pits outside of the dark paneled doors, their dancing flames casting flickering shadows over the marble sheathed walls and columns of the temple. The small courtyard was only partially lit; eerie shades of gray shifted over the stones. Standing guard, one on either side of the door, were two cultists dressed in the now-familiar black enameled armor. Slipping into the shadows of a shop across from the temple, Dart peered through the darkness at them. /Well, what do you think?/  
  
//What do you mean "What do you think?"//  
  
/Exactly that. If they're expecting us, why don't they have more men out here?/  
  
//They can't. If they brought an army in here, it would catch the King's attention. No King, no matter how stupid, will let an unwarranted army within their walls// I paused, remembering the words of the priest from the dream. //Actually, I'm more curious about that 'Zen' that they were talking about. Those priests seemed to think that he might be a match for us// More than likely it was just another person bearing a dragoon stone, but one could never be too careful. No matter how powerful the Divine Armor was, a dragoon was still a dragoon. And in the confined space within the temple, it would be the smaller dragoon that would be at the advantage should it come down to a one on one fight.  
  
Garren glanced over. "So how are we going to get past those guards?" He whispered. He stood a short distance behind Dart, a deep hood pulled up over his head to cover his silver hair.  
  
Dart squinted through the darkness, taking a good look at the buildings on either side. "We can try to get in normally, but I don't think they'll let us in. You have to remember that they're expecting us." He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes. "Give me a few minutes. I'm going to go through the shadows around the square and try to come up behind them. Then you walk across the square and try to enter the temple normally."  
  
"What if they don't let me in?" Garren asked skeptically.  
  
Dart half drew his sword meaningfully, then pushed it back. Then he slipped along the shadows of the buildings, slowly making his way around the courtyard towards the temple. /How long do you think this'll take?/ He asked. I didn't answer. The truth was, it all depended on whether or not we could kill the child before Zen arrived. If so, we could avoid the fight and get out of here. On the other hand, we could wait for Zen, fight him, and then I'd have an excuse to push Dart to take out this faction of the cult.  
  
/Ark?/  
  
//Quiet// We'd reached the shadows of the temple; Dart stood flattened against the marble pillar closest to the guard on the right. //Here comes the kid//  
  
Garren made his way quickly across the square, looking behind him often as though he was afraid of being followed. When he came within thirty or forty feet of the temple he broke into a panicked run, stumbling often on the stones. As he neared the entrance, the guardsmen crossed their pikes, barricading the door. "Halt!"  
  
//What does he think he's doing?//  
  
Garren didn't exactly halt; he more collapsed into a blubbering heap at the guardsmen's feet, sobbing and mumbling something about Black Monsters and fire and death. All in all, the act looked rather convincing; real tears actually seemed to be streaming down his cheeks and his clothes were charred and burnt, probably from close contact with a wingly fireball. I thought he looked more pathetic than anything, sobbing all over the stones like that, but it did attract the guards' attention. I couldn't hear clearly what he was mumbling about, but from the guards reactions I guessed that it must have had something to do with the Black Monster.  
  
//What is he doing?// I repeated, nudging Dart to catch his attention.  
  
/I'm not sure, but it looks like he's hand feeding them a couple well crafted lies/  
  
As I watched, the guards' faces gradually changed from surprised to frightened, and then open panic. After a short whispered conference with one another, they seized Garren by the arms and dragged him into the temple. He flopped along between them, still sobbing quietly. Just as they passed through the door though, he twisted his head around to look at us and grinned triumphantly.  
  
/Well, who would have guessed/ Dart started, but trailed off. Padding over to the open door, he glanced in quickly before slipping through  
  
//That kid knows how to act// I confirmed.  
  
Garren's POV:  
  
I was half carried-half dragged through the narrow halls of the small temple by the two guards, letting my head flop loosely on my neck in time with their hurried steps. Hurrying along as much as they could with my body burdening them, the two guards passed though a large room with a vaulted ceiling before passing into a side chamber that housed a long twisting staircase. At the top of the stairs was a long, dimly lit corridor. A few black robed servants trotted back and forth, mindlessly committed to whatever errands they happened to be running. Ignoring them, the two guards reached the end of the hall and pushed open the door. The room inside was a large, spacious chamber with stone buttresses bracing against the walls in the middle and at either end. Torches burned in sconces every few feet along the walls, guttering weakly in the slightly smoky air. The chamber was basically devoid of decoration, save a large elaborately carved marble statue resting against the wall that seemed to portray a tree, moon, and child joined into one being. The carving rested on a dais, before which stood a tall, balding man dressed in green and white robes prostrated himself. Three or four other men stood to one side, protectively surrounding a short woman cradling a bundle of white cloth in her plump arms. A sixth figure stood shrouded in a crimson robe in a corner, leaning almost nonchalantly against the wall.  
  
"Lord Donovan! Your Grace!" The two guards came to an abrupt halt, banging their spear butts on the stone floor.  
  
"Lord Donovan is praying!" One of the four green robes stepped angrily forward in our direction, glaring at the guards. "Why do you seek to disturb him?"  
  
"But Lord Marrak-" The guard on my left faltered under the disapproving eye of the priest. He swallowed, then continued. "This man was attacked outside of Bale by the Black Monster!"  
  
That caused a reaction. Donovan rose quickly to his feet, while the other remaining green robes muttered amongst themselves. Over in the corner, the figure in the red clock stirred slightly. The man I assumed must have been Marrak blanched, then quickly regained his composure. "What do you mean?" He barked. At his nod, the two guards dragged me before the statue and let me drop onto the hard floor. Stalking forward, the priest jerked me to my feet and caught my chin in one hand, forcing me to look down into his eyes. "What happened? Tell us!"  
  
Taking a breath as if to calm myself, I quickly ran through my story in my head before relating it in a rushed, jumbled account. "I-I was travelling with my family from Seles, a-and we were passing though the Limestone Caves this evening when we were attacked!" I twitched nervously and shivered, letting my eyes dart from face to face. "We'd just passed through the exit when it just dropped out of the sky! I got out of there b- but m-my children and Angela-" I shuddered more violently, widening my eyes and shaking my head. That's right. Let them think I was out of my mind. They were bound to see through this sooner or later, but the more time I could give Dart to prepare and get in here the better. "Angela! Run! Take the children an- Arraaagghh!" I dropped to my knees, clutching my head in my hands.  
  
Marrak started to drag me to my feet again, but stopped at a harsh word from Donovan. "Stop that. We have more important things to tend to. Someone quick, bar the doors!" At this one of the green men fled to the heavy double doors, barred them and backed away quickly, as though expecting for the thing to explode at any moment.  
  
Beside me, Marrak turned to speak to the red cloaked figure in the corner. "Well, Zen? The time has come at last. Are you ready to protect your god?"  
  
Zen shrugged off his cloak, letting it fall in crimson folds to the stones at his feet. Under the cloak he wore a mix of chain mail and a spiky black armor similar to the gear that the guards wore. Strapped across his back was a massive double handed broadsword, blackened by fire and smoke. Loosening the belts that held it in place, he drew it and held it out in front of him. "Always."  
  
I remained where I was in a huddled heap on the floor, although my shoulders no longer shook with the effort of false tears. Rather carefully I wiped the wetness from my face with the sleeve of my shirt, being careful not to leave any trace of the tears. Reaching into the neck of my shirt, I pulled out the knuckles Dart had given me and slipped them onto my right hand over the leather glove. Flexing my hand a few times to get used to the feel of it, I tensed myself. Where was he? Had I given him enough time?  
  
Apparently I had. There was a dull pounding on the door, followed by a pause and then the sound of splintering wood. The woman holding the child screamed and stumbled backward into one of the green robed men, sending them all to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Unable to help myself, I burst out into laughter at the sight. Somewhere within the tangle, the child started to cry.  
  
Marrak wheeled about to face me, his face contorted grossly with rage. "You!" He snarled, pointing a shaking finger at my face. "You tricked us! Y-you-!" He struggled for words for a moment, but failing to find any lunged at me, hands extended before him like claws.  
  
I guess I reacted out of reflex. The next thing I knew Marrak lay on the floor in front of me, eyes rolled back in his head and a thin trickle of blood running from his nose. For a full minute, no one moved, not even the hulking man in the corner that they had called Zen. I stared down at my fist in disbelief, vaguely aware of the dull ache at the root of my fingers where the brass had bit into my skin through the thick gloves. I glanced quickly at Marrak's still form, then back at my fist again. I had done that- with one hit?  
  
"Garren! The door! Take the door!" Dart's voice reached my ears, slightly muffled by the door between us. The tip of the sword sticking thorough the door wiggled, then pulled back out of sight. A moment later it bit into the wood again, wrenching the small gouge farther open.  
  
"Zen!" Donovan commanded, sweeping an imperious finger in my direction, "Kill him!"  
  
With a grunt the man started towards me, swinging that massive sword in low, sweeping arcs to warm up his body. Stumbling backwards until my back was against the carved statue, I raised my right hand in front of me, palm up, and grasped my wrist tightly with my other hand. Blowing an errant strand of hair out of my eyes, I glanced sideways at Zen slowly advancing towards me and grinned. "Sorry buddy, but you don't have time for me right now. You've got an appointment with a rather pissed dragon who I know has been just dying to meet you." Summoning a portion of my strength into my outstretched palm, I hurled my fireball at the damaged door.  
  
The door quite literally exploded outward in a shower of splinters, sparks, and smoke as the burning projectile impacted. Before the smoke had even cleared Dart shouldered his way through the shattered remains of the door, wings scraping the charred doorframe as he moved. Lunging forward with his cannon extended before him like a spear, he drove at the charging Zen, catching him across the back of the calf with the bladed end of the weapon. Zen stumbled hard and almost lost his balance, but managed to recover in time to spin about and catch Dart's blade against his own. They stood there for a moment, each man leaning against his sword and glaring at the other. For a moment time seemed to reach a standstill as they stood staring the other down amidst the smoke curling across the floor, then restarted as Zen wheeled away, preparing himself for a second strike.  
  
Dart caught Zen's blow with the flat of his sword and pushed, sending the other man stumbling back a few paces. A hefty kick sent Zen crashing back into the wall, his stomach cut and bleeding from the taloned foot pieces of the Divine armor. He lay still for a moment or two, then slowly pushed himself to his feet, licking blood from a cut in his lip. Glancing sideways over to where Donovan huddled with the midwife and the remaining green robe behind a pillar, Zen smiled. "I have to thank you, Lord Donovan. It appears that after all this time, I may have finally found something that is worth fighting."  
  
I don't think that Donovan really cared for Zen's thanks. He looked, to me at least, as though he was too busy trying to hide himself in the shadow of the voluminous midwife.  
  
Zen laughed, then turned his attention back to Dart. "So you're the Black Monster, huh?"  
  
"That's what they tell me."  
  
"Hey, the dog can talk!" Zen laughed again as the blood began to bead up over the cut on the edge of his lip. "You should consider yourself honored, Blackie. I could care less about this utopia the child is supposed to bring us; I joined on just for the chance to fight you." He sighed theatrically. "Do you know how hard it can be to find a good fight these days? Not that you'd appreciate that, but you're going to die just the same."  
  
"The biggest talkers are often the weakest fighters," Dart growled, raising his strange sword again. "Let's see if your skill can match your ego."  
  
Zen's smile broke, but only for a moment. "You seem awfully sure of yourself," he said. Reaching into the breastplate of his armor, he pulled out what I recognized to be a dragoon spirit, emitting a feeble red glow in the torchlight. "You're in for a treat, Blackie." He held the stone up to his eye, the way I had seen the jewelers in Ulara do when assessing the value of a gemstone. "See this pretty stone? Donovan said that it is the soul of a dragon. Now I don't know about you, but I think that having this on my side swings the odds in my favor just a bit, hmm?" When Dart gave no response, he scowled. "I guess you're not as smart as I thought if you can't appreciate the power this little rock gives me." Holding it out in front of him, he watched as the thing began to glow brighter and brighter, until his body seemed to burst into flames.  
  
It was then that two things happened. As the last of the armor formed over Zen's limbs and his newly acquired wings began to beat the air in a slow, steady rhythm, the Midwife made a break for the shattered door, the Moon Child in her arms. Dart unthinkingly started to follow, but Zen lunged forward, swinging his massive double blade at his opponent's exposed back. Dart managed to turn in time to absorb some of the blow, but the dragoon weapon still managed to bite deep into the armor. Blocking a second strike, Dart countered with a backhanded slash. "Garren! The Moon Child! Don't let them get away!"  
  
It took a moment for his words to sink in before I understood. Dart couldn't do anything; Zen was only intended as a distraction, but he was an effective deadlock. That meant that I had to-  
  
The midwife had almost reached the door. Gritting my teeth, I whipped back my arm, feeling the heat begin to consolidate into the palm of my hand. As that heat burst into flame, I hurled the fireball at my fleeing target.  
  
One thing we do learn at Ulara is how to master our own magical skills. One of the techniques we practice extensively is fire shooting and throwing. I should tell you now that I was the best in my class.  
  
Moving or still, I never miss.  
  
  
  
Ba bang! Another chapter in the bag! I'm looking at about ten or eleven more before the end of part one, so sit tight. Yes, I do have an eventual plan for the whole series, I'm just taking my time getting there. -_- 


	20. Gone

Diiirrrrrrrr - Tish! Boom! **dances about happily hugging Meteora**  
  
Just a quick question/note here: It's gotten into my head here that I'm juggling more plot than I can conveniently plug into the main story. I'd like to try adding in a few side stories. They would have to be much shorter than the regular chapters, but would help, I think, to better explain what is going on, or at least give the reader a better feel for some characters that although may or may not be important later on but that I wouldn't otherwise have the time to really develop. This might deal with one of the dragons (other than Arkie), some of the cultists, or a wingly. It's just something I'd like to experiment with, but I thought I'd get the opinion of you guys first because, after all, you guys are the ones putting up with my writing. ^-^ So just tell me what you think. The first side story wouldn't come for a chapter or two yet, so if you like or disapprove of the idea, you have plenty of time to tell me.  
  
And now, back to our regularly scheduled plot.  
  
~Flashback~  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
"Excuse me, sir?"  
  
I jumped, snapping out of my daze. A serving girl stood over me, looking at me with a slightly exasperated expression. "Sorry. Just chilled ale, thanks." I watched for a moment as she swept away without another word, disappearing behind the low bar as she reached for some sort of drink or another. Disinterested, I dropped my eyes back to the peanut shell covered floor of the bar and went back to my thoughts.  
  
It had been almost fifty years since the assault on the Temple in Bale. On the whole, I still wasn't sure if I was satisfied with the way things had turned out. Yes, Garren had managed to take out the Moon Child, and I had managed to win back the spirit of the red-eye dragoon, but Zen's death had brought about something completely unexpected.  
  
~I stood over Zen's fallen body, chest heaving from the exertion of the fight. A thin stream of blood ran down my neck, leaking from the gash Zen's blade had opened down the right side of my face. Taking a half-step forward, I reached down and carefully lifted the stone from where it sat in a hollow in Zen's pitted armor. Clenching it tightly in my fist, I looked over at Garren. He stood with his hand still outstretched, staring in disbelief at the results of his handiwork. I'd have to talk to him about his afterwards, before he slipped into shock. Hopefully, the pain of taking a life would be enough to convince him that it would be better for him if he stayed in Ulara in the future. To tell the truth, I would much rather he didn't have to stain his hands in this way. I started towards him, but before I could reach him, the sound of footsteps caught my attention.  
  
Donovan stood in the shattered ruins of the door, slowly taking in the aftermath of the conflict. His eyes were sad, even teary, but when they fell on me they held only an undeniable hatred. He restrained himself from speaking to us, but when he spoke it was as though he was addressing a hoard of people.  
  
"On this night, the twenty first day of a new spring, in the temple of the Moon Child in the city of Bale, three of our own have fallen. Among them was the blessed Moon Child, whose presence could only bring light and hope of a better existence into this world. The second was the guardian monk Zenth, who lay down his life in hopes of giving his master a chance to escape. Though his efforts were in vain, let the actions of this martyr never be forgotten. He lay down his life to pave the way to a new world, a way that is now our responsibility to follow and protect."~  
  
I sighed and touched the thin scar running down my cheek as the serving maid handed me my mug and left without a word. We'd known that there were part winglies in the world, but it had never occurred to us that Donovan might be one of them. The abilities of half-breeds were usually quite weak, but it appeared that the cult leader had spent many years developing them, such to the point that he could cast a spell that would make his words known to all, even if they were not physically present when he spoke them. I had thought that when he'd spoken that night it had simply been a rambling brought on by the shock of losing such as he did, but a few weeks later I realized my assumption had been very wrong. Tygris had left for Ulara, and Garren and I had just reached the small coastal village of Kalla when we started to hear talk of the 'martyr'. I guess the Moon Cult was using Zen's name to build up a greater following for themselves, spreading the news that Soa had favored them by sending the dragon warriors to combat the Black Monster and to protect and guide the Moon Child. I found it funny that they failed to mention that they only had two stones left, but let it be.  
  
Garren plunked down into the chair next to me. "Drunk yet?" Even after all that had happened in Bale, Garren had remained with us. I wasn't quite sure why: the man despised the killing of almost everything- unless that something had to do with his next meal.  
  
//He seems happy today. Ask him where he's been// Despite his previous assertion that he didn't care about the taboos of Ulara, Ragnarok liked to keep as close an eye as possible on the energetic wingly at all times. I guess the whole idea of some petty king running around with the weapons from the Dragon Campaign was more than just a little unsettling to him.  
  
"Not really. I don't feel like drinking much today, for some reason." I took a cautious sip of the ale, then set it down and pushed it away. "What have you been up to?"  
  
Absently, Garren grabbed my tankard and took a long draught. "Just looking around. There's so many things to see in Lohan." Grinning, he set the ale down again. "Despite everything, I still think leaving home was the best thing that ever happened to me."  
  
Ragnarok grumbled, but privately I agreed with Garren. Before we'd left, he'd had the soft appearance of someone who'd never had to perform any sort of strenuous work in his life. Now he had a more sculpted look to his muscles, a result of crisscrossing Serdio and Tiberoa on foot several times over the past fifty years or so. His fighting skills had improved vastly; he'd never be on the same level as Haschel, certainly, but he definitely was more than adept with his fists. His skin had tanned a deep gold-brown colour that made his silver hair seem alarmingly pale in comparison. He had long since discarded the outdated outfit he'd worn in Ulara; instead he now wore a plain sleeveless white shirt and loose pants. Taking another quaff from the tankard, he drained it and set it down with a thump on the table. "If you were planning on going outside at anytime soon, you might want to wander down to where the temple is. Would you believe that they have one of their monks outside preaching? And that people are actually listening to that crap?"  
  
//It's not that surprising, if you think about it// Ark reminded me. //If the cult's going to be able to protect the Moon Child from us, they're going to need more support. I wouldn't be surprised if they're planning to overthrow the main religions of Endiness//  
  
I pushed back my chair and got to my feet. "I probably should go outside for a bit," I admitted. Actually, I hadn't been outside in three or four days; the need for fresh air was starting to get to me. "What sort of stuff is this monk going on about?"  
  
"The usual nonsense. A bunch of rubbish about the old stories and utopias and Soa's favor shining on their purpose. They mentioned Zen once or twice. I think they're trying to make that idiot out as a saint rather than just a martyr." Garren settled back into his chair and waved at the serving maid to get her attention. "I wouldn't bother going right now; the monk's finished his sermon for now. He's supposed to be doing another one tonight though."  
  
"I think I'll look around for a while, just the same." We'd been in Lohan for more than a week already, but as in any commercial town, it was always filled with intrigue. Even just by wandering though the streets and listening to casual conversation, one could learn news from just about every corner of the continent.  
  
Slipping out the door and into the narrow, crowded streets, I glanced up at the sun. About mid-afternoon. I still had about five or six hours to kill before the cultists started up with their false sermons again. Slipping into the crowd I wandered aimlessly, listening to the merchants hawking their goods in loud obnoxious voices.  
  
//I hate human cities. At least the winglies felt some need for decorum// Ark said distastefully as two brawlers rolled through the door of a nearby tavern and into the street, to the cheers of some of the more enthusiastic onlookers. We were forced to wait until the pair beat each other into insensibility and was dragged back into the tavern by a distressed looking bartender before we could pass.  
  
/I thought you like fighting/  
  
//Not that kind of fighting. Why is it that you humans feel the pressing need to get drunk, anyhow?//  
  
/I'm not sure/ I responded, stepping around a hassled looking mother trying to control two hyperactive children at once. /A way to pass the time when we're bored, I guess. Some people find it fun/  
  
//What's so entertaining about headaches and throwing up?//  
  
/Nothing really. Actually, the real pain is when you get so drunk you lose track of what day it is/ I stopped to examine a shelf of sweetmeats sold by a florid young man dressed in an obnoxious orange robe. /Ask Garren sometime. I'm sure he managed to do it once or twice in the last three hundred years or so/ I decided that the sweetmeats didn't look that appetizing, so I moved on. Ducking around a crowd of jabbering young women, I mounted the rickety stairs that led to the upper levels of the city.  
  
I just reached the top of the stairs when a hubbub broke out nearby. Two men had seized a struggling young girl by the arms and wrested her to the ground, but not easily. The girl appeared to be putting up a good fight, kicking one man in the kneecap and biting the other on the knuckles. A crowd had started to gather around to watch the display.  
  
"Let me go! I didn't do anything wrong!" The girl cried, desperately trying to break free of her captor's grip. "You got the wrong person!"  
  
"Yeah, right." One of the two men growled, tightening his grip. "I saw you last week, stealing jewelry from my brother's stand. You know what the penalty is for stealing."  
  
"No!" The girl cried, struggling even more. "No! You can't-"  
  
"Just watch us," the man's companion smirked. "You thieves get away with far too much. It's not our place to decide your punishment, but the town guard will probably agree: the best way to stop a thief from stealing is to take away the tools of their trade."  
  
After the girl had been dragged off, I wandered over to where a young couple sat on a doorstep, where they had watched the whole scene. "What was that all about?" I asked.  
  
The man glanced at me, startled. "You must not be from around here," he said. "You see that all the time now. Damn Thieves Guild has gotten out of control."  
  
"Thieves Guild?"  
  
"Bunch of jokers who can't be bothered to work for a living. They've always been around, but a few years ago they started to become more active." The man made a disgusted face. "As you can see, they've even begun to attract children into their ranks. It's become so bad lately that the Knighthood stationed here had to take steps."  
  
"You mean the 'punishment' they were talking about?"  
  
The man's wife nodded. "I must say, the penalty is a harsh one for one such as that child to pay. If she's lucky, maybe Sir Tayne, the head of the knighthood will take pity on her and let her off easy."  
  
"What will they do?"  
  
"Think about it." The man said. "When you get right down to it, there's only one effective way to stop a thief from stealing without killing them."  
  
"You're not serious! She's only a child!" I exploded.  
  
//It makes sense. A thief without hands would have a very hard time stealing things//  
  
/Yes, but it would screw up just about every other aspect of her life as well! How can you expect a child to go through life without their hands?/ I stalked away from the couple without another word, still muttering and grumbling to myself.  
  
Several hours later, I found myself still worrying over the matter of the young girl.  
  
//Give it up Dart// Ark said in a tired tone. //If they'd done something about her, you would have heard her screaming. They probably just let her go//  
  
/Maybe/ I said, but I didn't really believe it. The moralities of the knighthood hadn't seemed to change that much since Lavitz's day, but according to the public, the rein they tried to keep on breaklaws grew shorter by the day. /I think that we should start to head over to the temple now/ I said, changing the subject and glancing up at the darkening sky above us. The street merchants had begun to light their lamps, sending flickering shadows against the walls of the buildings lining the narrow avenues. Here and there the members of the knighthood could be seen, standing in the shadows of doorframes or leaning on their spears near the shops. Overhead the sky was becoming steadily more overcast; dark, threatening clouds could just be seen scudding slowly through the twilight. Somewhere off in the distance, thunder rumbled sullenly.  
  
Leaving the streets and slipping through an open doorway, I wove my way through the maze of shops and storerooms that make up the beehive like buildings belonging to the merchant class of Lohan, slowly making my way through to the rooftops. Above the streetlights, the only breaks in the darkness came through the panes of glass in the loft windows in the upper floors of the apartments. I stepped carefully, trying to avoid any shingles that may have become loosened by the weather. More than a few times I slipped, and once I almost slid off the roof entirely, but managed to save myself at the last moment. Ragnarok took this opportunity to berate me for my clumsiness, not quieting down until we'd reached the rooftop nearest the temple.  
  
Glancing over the lip of the roof, I was surprised at what I saw. The square below was filled to overflowing with people of all classes and nationalities. In a town such as Lohan the latter was to be expected, but I hadn't thought that this many people were buying into this crap. Seating myself on the edge of the roof, I shook my head. /This isn't good/  
  
//I know// Ark's voice was grim. //If the cult has gained this much support, we're going to have to take some steps//  
  
Further opportunity for conversation was cut off as a young man dressed in the familiar green robes pushed open the temple doors and stood at the top of the steps, lifting his hand for silence. Almost immediately the crowd's clamor ceased as all eyes turned to look upon the monk. Smiling broadly, he raised both arms and delivered the ritual benediction in one of the old tongues of Endiness. He paused while the crowd echoed his words, then set to work.  
  
/He's just repeating the same crap that they've been preaching for the past two hundred years or so/ I said after listening to the gesticulating monk ramble on for about half an hour or so. /It's nothing out of the ordinary. So why are people flocking to him like this?/  
  
//It's the words he's using// Ark said testily. //Yes, he's repeating the same old ideas, but listen to him speak. It's not his ideals that are causing the crowd to hang on his every word like this, but his eloquence. He's using flowery speech to beautify and rejuvenate a tired out subject//  
  
/Whatever it is, it's working/ I said, watching the rapt faces of the crowd. /He's got them wrapped around his little finger like a piece of thread/  
  
Ragnarok watched as down below the monk worked his speech up to its climax, waving both arms erratically in the air and speaking with a loud, passionate voice. Even from the distance we sat, there was no way that we could miss the fanatical light burning in his eyes. As the light began to catch into the crowd, Ragnarok growled //He's dangerous//  
  
/No kidding. They'd assault the gates of Hell itself if he told them to right now/  
  
//Hush. I think he must have saved up all his feelings about us for last. Here he goes//  
  
Below, the young monk dropped his voice so low that I had to actually strain to catch his words, even though the square was dead silent. "But, my brothers and sisters, as always there is one thing that shall forever stand in the way of our Utopia. For as all know, it is the sins of mankind that stay Soa from delivering paradise into our hands. The sins we have all committed, yes, even I, shall weigh us down and keep us, like sulking children, from ever receiving the paradise from the hands of the blessed Moon Child- unless we can repent!" Here he paused and dabbed sweat from his brow with his sleeve. When he seemed positive that the crowd was holding his breath for his next words, he lifted his arms and continued.  
  
"Yes, my dear brothers and sisters, you have heard me correctly. For there is one vessel, one creature that retains all of the bitterness of the spirit. And because of this bitterness, each time Soa delivers one of his own children into our loving hands, the life of that child is reft away. And no matter how much we guard our actions and try to repent in life, there will be no salvation for the children. In order to save the Moon Child, to gain our Utopia, we must first destroy the vessel of our sin and hate! Only then shall the sins of the past be forgiven!" All through his speech, the monk had artfully raised his voice, until now at last his booming voice echoed through the square. Throwing both arms into the air, he raised his face to the boiling clouds in the sky, the light from the spluttering torches flanking him playing across his face. "That vessel of our hatred and sin is the Black Monster! The fiend of our own doing who razes our homes and devours the Moon Children in his black fire! Our sins have plagued for too long! Let us rise up, my brethren, and do away forever with this ill-born vessel of hatred! For the next time a Moon Child is born, it shall be the last fight for this dark legacy!"  
  
As his last words echoed around the square, the crowd roared their approval to the stormy skies above. The clouds had opened up and begun to spill their insides upon the masses, but the rain did little to dampen the spirit of the mob. If anything, the fanatical light smoldering in the backs of their eyes seemed to actually spark and burn. Roaring and clamoring, the somewhere in the crowd someone started up a chant that was quickly picked up by the rest of the crowd.  
  
//That's enough of this!// Ark shoved me roughly out of the way and got to his feet. Deep inside my chest, I could feel the divine dragoon spirit begin to burn.  
  
/What are you doing!?/ I yelled, trying to shove him aside and stumbling backwards from the edge.  
  
//They're fanatics!// Ragnarok snarled, trying to force me out of control again. //If we let them go, then we'll have to face an army twice this size the next time we hunt the Moon Child!//  
  
/They don't know what's going on!/ I shot back, trying desperately to hold my own against the force of his mind. /In a few days from now, they'll have forgotten every word he said!/  
  
//You don't know that! Do you really want all of Endiness converted to the worship of the Moon Child?!//  
  
/That's not what's going on! They're innocent! What you're trying to do is cold-blooded mur-/ I was prevented from saying any more as Ragnarok threw the full force of his mind at me, sending me to my knees. Pain wracked my body, crushing the breath from my lungs and seizing up my muscles. Almost desperately I clawed at my chest with my hands as the stone replacing my heart burst into flame, searing my ribcage. /Ragnarok-!/  
  
//Give it up// Ragnarok gritted, not relenting. //I don't want to do this to you, but if you won't kill them, I will!// When I still resisted, he forced me down even more. My vision began to blur and darken as unconsciousness began to close in. I was going to pass out- and then Ark would be free to do as he pleased.  
  
/Get out!/ I cried suddenly, shoving back against his mind with every ounce of energy I still possessed. /Just leave me! Get out of my head!/  
  
Quite suddenly, everything stopped. The pain disappeared, leaving in its wake a sort of leaden feeling to my limbs. I collapsed weakly to the ground, utterly drained from the struggle. Rain streamed down my cheek, the wetness comfortingly cool against my hot skin. I tried to focus on that detail, but my mind didn't seem to want to function properly. Almost desperately, I reached for the place in my mind where Ark usually resided.  
  
No response.  
  
  
  
**Banging her head on a convenient wall** Errhh. sorry if I've disappointed anyone who thought after the last chapter that there was a fight scene coming up. Argh. I'm disappointed with myself. Truth is, I never really planned on writing that fight in the first place.  
  
Heh. One chapter of moderate, more or less chaos, coming right up. Just as soon as my lazy ass self decides she has the inspiration to write it. 


	21. Thief

Shade: @_@ **passed out on the floor from being shaken too hard**  
  
Garren: **poking her with a long stick** Damn. She's gone. **shruggs** Oh well, it's my turn to do some of the work around here anyways.  
  
Ragnarok: About damn time.  
  
  
  
Garren's POV:  
  
I glanced out the window at the rain slowly pooling on the street in the light of the sputtering torches in front of the inn. It was almost midnight, and Dart still hadn't returned. Normally this wouldn't bother me; it wasn't uncommon for Dart to disappear altogether for a night or two and then reappear back in his bed a few mornings later. But tonight I couldn't seem to shake off the feeling that something had gone horribly wrong. Unsure of what to do, I sat in a corner table of the tavern, pushing the leftovers of my third plate of watery stew around my plate with a dull knife.  
  
Behind me, two old men dressed in the pale brown garb of townsmen sat tilted back in their chairs smoking pipes. "I'd be careful if I were you tonight, Bard," One of the old men advised the other. "The thieves are out in full force tonight." He tapped his pipe against the table, knocking out some of the ash onto the floorboards.  
  
"I know," Bard coughed, banging on his chest with his fist. "That arrest the knighthood made earlier this afternoon must have made them angry. They're getting careless, all out running around in the street at once like this." He shook his head. "So what's the knighthood planing to do about it?"  
  
His companion shrugged, then leaned back even farther in his chair, craning his neck around to look at a red-liveried young man with tousled hair. "Hey, John! You heard the question! What's your father planning to do about this one?"  
  
John jumped, then turned to glower at the haggard old man. "You just mind your own business, Mynn. What my father does with his knighthood tonight, or on any night for that matter, is of no concern to you commoners." Huffily, John turned back to his meal.  
  
"Bah, nobles," Mynn snorted, turning around in his seat again. "They're the same wherever you go. Act as though they have all the secrets in the world tucked up their sleeves." Pausing, he put down his pipe and took a long drink from his tankard. "Bet they've finally located the Thieves Guild headquarters."  
  
Pushing away my knife and plate, I stood up and headed back to the inn in the upper levels of the tavern. The talk in the taprooms of inns was usually interesting, but it always became repetitive after a few hours. Anyhow, I reminded myself as I twisted the brass doorknob and pushed open the door to Dart's room, I wanted to see if my friend was back from his wandering yet.  
  
But the room was empty, apparently undisturbed since my companion had left earlier that morning. The sheets on the bed where rumpled and unmade, and the wicked looking sword Dart normally carried while we traveled was standing propped in the corner, wrapped in a sheath of tough oiled leather. Dart had stopped carrying the ornate weapon soon after we had come to Lohan; it attracted too much attention from the always eager street merchants. Instead he left it here in his quarters while he went about his business. At first I had worried that someone might just walk in and steal it, but Dart assured me that no one would even notice it. I had suspicions that Ragnarok had a hand in this, a suspicion inspired in part by the almost tangible magical aura surrounding the ancient weapon. Curious, I walked over to the sword and picked it up, letting the leather fall away as I did so. However, almost as soon as I picket it up, I let it fall to the floor with a yelp. The hilt was wrapped in a sharp, almost bladed piece of silver wire that bit painfully into my hand when I tried to lift it. Glancing down at my palm, I was surprised to see cuts in the leather of my glove. Dart hadn't been kidding when he told me that he was the only one that could wield this sword. The wire alone, fixed permanently into the hilt, would be enough to keep the average person from picking it up out of idle curiosity. Never mind the fact that anyone who tried to use this sword without Ragnarok's explicit permission would probably end up maiming their person.  
  
"Maybe he's still hanging out around the temple," I mused to myself, walking over and pushing open the wooden shutters that hung loosely on the window frame. I started to pull myself up onto the sill, then paused and jumped back down. Crossing back over to the sword, I wrapped it tightly in the leather once more and tucked it under my arm, being careful not to touch the hilt. Climbing onto the sill once more, I glanced down at the streets below. They were for the most part deserted; here and there the occasional wary eyed merchant trotted through the rain back to their homes, jealously guarding their treasures from another day of barter and exchange. Inevitably they were followed at a short distance by silent figures that crept along through the shadows, patiently awaiting the chance to take their share of the merchant's hard-won spoils of war. Hopping off the ledge and into the air, I hovered for a moment before ghosting up through the rain and onto the roof.  
  
On the roof rainwater streamed over the loose shingles, causing them to slip out from underfoot, or to just refuse to tolerate any weight at all and send me sliding to my knees. When I had repeated this action four or five times, I finally got fed up with walking and simply teleported myself to the next roof. This course of action proved to be much more efficient, and I jumped rapidly from one rooftop to the next without pause. In fact, this method gave me almost no trouble at all until after one warp, when I reappeared rather suddenly atop the roof of the building nearest the temple. That would have been fine, had I not also landed on top of the poor young man who had been making his way across that roof at the very same instant.  
  
"Arrghhh."  
  
"Ack! Sorry!" I rolled off the flattened individual and tried to help him to his feet.  
  
Fortunately, he seemed to recover quickly. Climbing to his feet, he pulled his soaking cloak more tightly about himself. "What'd you do that for?" He snapped irritably, taking a couple quick steps back from me.  
  
So much for the fortunate part. Maybe it would be better if he'd been knocked out when I landed on him. I scowled back at him. "Well sorry for you getting in my way! Maybe next time you should think twice before you go running across rooftops at night, huh?"  
  
"You shouldn't have been using that tele-crap magic you winglies are so fond of! That's going to be outlawed because of dolts like you, you know that?" Still grumbling, the young man scooped up the bundle he'd dropped and stalked off, ducking into an open window and disappearing into the upper stories of the building.  
  
Turning on heel, I stomped off, more than a little irritated by the young man's behavior. Unfortunately, stomping about on a wet roof isn't the most intelligent thing to do. After about five steps or so the shingle I happened to stomp on slid out of place, dumping me unceremoniously onto my side. With my ear pressed to the roof as it was, I could hear an elderly voice from somewhere in the room below yelling his protests to the noise. Muttering to myself, I got to my feet, retrieved Dart's sword from where I had dropped it and cautiously made my way across the remainder of the roof. Pausing at the edge, I caught hold of a narrow smokestack to steady myself and leaned out over the edge, scanning the roofs of the buildings surrounding the temple. Nothing. I half turned away, but at that moment the glint of metal caught my eye on a roof across the square. Curious, I re- adjusted the sword under my arm and hopped off of the roof, flitting quickly across the intervening space and landing lightly on the aforementioned rooftop.  
  
Rainwater had begun to pool in the dips of the poorly constructed roof, the surface of the pools ever changing as the falling rain sent little ripples across it. Lying half in and half out of one such pool was an unmoving huddle of cloth, a mop of soaking blond hair hardly to be seen against all of the black. Rushing over, I flipped Dart onto his back, noting with relief that he was still breathing, although his skin was cold to the touch from lying in the downpour for so long. Unsure of what to do next, I paused. Now what? Back in Ulara, nothing like this had ever happened while I was around. And the one time I had seen a fainted person revived, it had been by plunging their head into a barrel of cold water and holding it there until they re-awoke. I glanced up at the dark sky, feeling the cold rain splash onto my upturned face. Somehow I didn't think that that particular method would work here.  
  
However I was saved from having to invent my own previously untried method when Dart stirred. After lying dazedly on the shingles for a moment or two longer, he lurched onto his hands and knees, huge coughs wracking his entire body. When he finally stopped, he pushed himself slowly to his feet, wiping the blood from his lower lip.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I think so." Dart replied, but his voice had the far away quality that usually indicates that his attention is somewhere else. Absently, he reached down to touch the carrier belt slung at his waist, an action, I thought, that he performed more out of habit than any real necessity. But now he froze, his face going, if possible, even whiter than it already was.  
  
"Dart?" I asked uneasily, knowing full well what he had in all probability just discovered.  
Dart's POV:  
  
It was gone.  
  
Stupidly, I checked for it again, but my waist was barren save for the worn brown leather of my sword belt. The heavy black studded belt that I used to carry the dragoon spirits was gone. Wonderful. This absolutely had to happen when Ark was on a reinforced vacation.  
  
I reached for the mind of my foul tempered partner once again, but the answer was the same as last time. If he was there, then he wasn't answering. Reaching up, I pressed two fingers against the side of my neck, trying to find some sign of a pulse. I was strangely relieved when I found none. Since my heart had been replaced with the stone my pulse had disappeared, although what exactly that meant I had no idea. I had been without it for so long I almost had forgotten what it felt like. I guess I felt that as long as the stone was with me, Ragnarok was still hanging around somewhere.  
  
"Dart?" Garren's voice was uneasy. I looked up. He stood restlessly, shifting from foot to foot, his silver hair shining wetly in the rain.  
  
"It's gone." I stared out over the flickering lights of Lohan, not missing the furtive shapes flitting about silently in the shadows of the buildings lining the streets, prudently avoiding the pools of weak torchlight splashed over the cobbled streets. Thieves, going about their nightly business. Under most circumstances I would care less, but why now of all times did my business have to cross paths with theirs? "Did you happen to notice anyone on your way up here?"  
  
Garren snorted, although he still looked nervous. "Almost flattened one guy as I was coming out of a warp on the roof across the square from here. He wasn't too pleased about it, I can tell you." He scratched his forehead reflectively. "He was carrying something though," he muttered, more to himself than to me.  
  
"Could it have been the belt?"  
  
"Maybe." He shrugged. "At any rate, we'll never catch him now. Last I saw him, he was going into one of those beehives that they call buildings. He could be halfway across town by now."  
  
Well that was something at least. I was pretty sure that the belt had been stolen, and all thieves in Lohan were forced to report to the Thieves Guild. If we could just find the guild headquarters, we might be able to recover the spirits yet. But in order to find the guild headquarters we'd need to find a thief that would takes us there. And the chances of catching a thief that would lead us there were slim to almost nil. Almost.  
  
Abruptly I turned back to face Garren again. "How well do you know your way around Lohan?"  
  
"Where do you want to go?"  
  
"Could you warp us both to the compound where the Knighthood is stationed?"  
  
"Easily, but why would you want to go there?" Garren asked, perplexed.  
  
"There's someone there who I think might be able to help us."  
  
"If you're sure." Garren said, "But you're going to have to take this. I've been lugging it around ever since I left the inn, and it's not exactly the easiest thing to carry." He held out a long bundle wrapped in tough scarred leather. Ragnarok's sword. I hesitated, then reached out and took hold of the barbed hilt. To my relief I felt no pain as the wire bit into my skin, nor did the sharp edges leave so much as a mark on my fingers. Whatever grievances Ark had about the argument, he was still willing to let me wield his blade for him. Clipping the weapon onto my swordbelt, I gripped Garren's shoulder tightly.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
The courtyard was shrouded in shadows, despite the fact that there were more torches lit here than anywhere else in the city. The darkness seemed to close in on the brands, smothering all but the feeblest attempts of flickering light. Even the windows of the barracks were dark; not one candle was lit inside the narrow building. I wondered at this silently as Garren and I crept through the deepest shadows against the wall of the compound towards the small grill fronted cells where the thieves and other break laws were kept. As we drew closer, I could dimly make out the huddled forms of the prisoners in the backs of their cells as even in their sleep they flinched away from the wetness outside. A few of them snuffled and groaned as they played through their dreams, but none gave any sign that they were aware of our approach. I paid no attention to the occupants of these cells. They weren't the ones I was here to see.  
  
We found her in the last cell, closest to the barracks. The girl I had seen being dragged off the street earlier looked a little disheveled, but none the worse for her experiences with the Knighthood. At least, so far as I could see, she still had both of her hands.  
  
"What are we stopping for?" Garren hissed from behind me. "Keep moving, or someone's gonna spot us!"  
  
"This is who we came here for, Garren." I muttered, eyes fixed on the little girl's frail frame. "She's going to be our guide."  
  
"A little shrimp like that?"  
  
"She's our best option," I responded, uncovering my blade and pulling it free of its clasp. The cell grating was held in place by a heavy lock, rusted from years exposed to the elements. Setting the tip of my sword into the keyhole, I shoved hard and twisted it back and forth, trying to wrench the lock open. It worked, sort of. Actually, the blade split the lock clean in half. I paused, listening hard to make sure that my efforts hadn't awoken anyone, then grasped one of the crossbars of the grate tightly in both hands. "Help me," I told Garren through clenched teeth.  
  
Together we managed to open the grate a foot or so without causing too much racket. I didn't dare risk any more than that. The rusty hinges creaked noisily with even the slightest movement, so I didn't want to open it any farther than I absolutely had to. With a whispered "Wait here," to Garren, I slipped into the cell.  
  
Despite its seemingly damp appearance, the inside of the cell was surprisingly dry and warm, once one got far enough away from the door. As I approached, the little girl stirred, then sat up abruptly, eyes fixed accusingly on the sword I still carried loosely in one hand. I held up my free hand, finger to my lips for silence, then returned my blade to its customary resting place on my belt. The girl watched me suspiciously as I came closer, but didn't say a word until I crouched next to her on the stones. "Who are you?" She hissed, her voice bearly audible over the sound of the rain drumming on the roof.  
  
"A friend, of sorts," I replied quietly. "Have they decided what they're going to do with you?"  
  
For someone so young, the girl seemed mature well beyond her years. "Standard thieves punishment," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.  
  
"I thought so. Bet you'd do anything to get out of it, right?" I tried to say it gently, but I couldn't help thinking that it sounded as though I was toying with her.  
  
"I'm not looking forward to it, if that's what you mean." She looked closely at me, narrowing her eyes. "What are you getting at? You going to let me out?"  
  
"Depends on whether or not you'll help us."  
  
"That depends on what the favor is."  
  
She was sharp, I had to admit. I paused, then dropped the bomb. "We need you to take us to the guild headquarters."  
  
"Absolutely not." She stated flatly.  
  
"Why not? We just need to retrieve something. It's not like we're going to betray you guys to the knighthood or anything like that."  
  
"It goes against regulations. Anyone who brings a non-guild member to headquarters is to be expelled from the Guild for life." The girl snapped, even though it seemed to me as though she was repeating a formula she'd heard a million times before.  
  
"Under no circumstances?"  
  
"None what so ever."  
  
"What if I were to tell you that the knighthood might already know the location of your headquarters already? And that they might be planning an attack on it tonight?" Garren said, slipping into the cell behind me. I turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. Why hadn't he mentioned this before now?  
  
"What do you mean?" The girl asked, a note of panic sneaking into her voice.  
  
"I mean exactly what I said." Garren moved so that he was blocking the exit. "Of course, I could be lying. There's no way I can prove to you that I'm telling the truth. But can you really afford to take that risk?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Think quickly."  
  
He was acting again. Garren did that from time to time, I noticed. I looked at him closely, trying to tell if the story about the headquarters was a part of the tough guy act or not, but his face betrayed no secrets.  
  
Apparently the girl didn't know what to think either. After thinking her options over for a moment or two, she glared at Garren. "I don't like you."  
  
"I don't like you either." Garren retorted. "Now are you going to help us?"  
  
"Do I have a choice?"  
  
"Not really." I stood and lifted the kid to her feet. "What's you're name?"  
  
"Amy." She pulled out of my grasp and resumed glaring at Garren. "Who're you?"  
  
"I'm Ry," I told her, selecting a name at random, "And this is Garren."  
  
"Strange names for strange people. What is it you want back from us, anyhow?"  
  
"A belt." I said shortly.  
  
"A belt?"  
  
"Yes, a belt. Now are we going to stand around here all night, or are we going to actually do something tonight?"  
  
Garren's POV:  
  
I'm sure that there must have been a faster, more direct route to the headquarters, but if there was, Amy wasn't taking it. We wove through alleys, climbed over rooftops, and hurried through the honeycombed corridors of the merchant classes so for so long that soon I was quite lost. Which seemed to be exactly what the little thief had in mind. When she seemed sure that both Dart and I had no idea where we were, her route became more direct. When we finally stopped, we were in one of the hallways of the shop buildings. She turned to look at us, a stern expression on her face. "When we get in there, let me do the talking. Don't either of you say so much as a word." She glared at me again, then pushed open the door and stepped through.  
  
The room inside was pretty much the typical needs shop. Salted and dried foods of different varieties lined the walls, and bolts of drab cloth leaned against the walls. Cheeses wrapped in rough brown cloth hung from the ceiling, giving the room a sort of dusky smell. Stepping around a large crate of russet apples, Amy walked up to the counter and rang the little bell to let the shopkeeper know she was there.  
  
For a minute or two no one came, then a sandy-eyed shopkeeper staggered out of the back room. Evidently he knew our guide, because when he saw her, he scowled. "You had to wait until I was just about asleep, didn't you Amy?"  
  
"Save it, Derryl. We both know that you have the rest of the week off anyhow. Now open the hatch."  
  
Derryl glanced at Dart and I questioningly, but said nothing. Instead he led the three of us into an unused storeroom, it's walls bare of wares. Crouching, he began to fiddle with the latch on a large hatch set into the floor. It clicked and suddenly the hatch swung downward, revealing a large room underneath. Standing back, he wiped his eyes sleepily. "There you go, child. I imagine that they'll all be pleased to see that you're still in one piece. Don't forget to shut the hatch behind you." With one last suspicious look at Dart and myself, he disappeared from the room.  
  
Amy was smiling openly now. With an agile little leap she disappeared through the hatchway, landing with a soft 'thump' on what I guessed must have been a heap of cloth. Dart glanced over at me, then lowered him self carefully through the hatch after her. Not really being able to think of anything else to do, I followed.  
  
I will say that I've had better landings. This one wasn't exactly on scale with the time I accidentally landed in a fountain coming out of a warp, but it came close. As my feet came into contact with the slippery cloth my ankle buckled and bent under me, sending a shock of pain up through my shinbone and dumping me onto my back. I started to rise, but stopped when I felt a spear point pressing threateningly against my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Dart, although on his feet, was in a similar situation.  
  
"Wait!" Amy pushed the spearhead aside. "They helped me escape from the knighthood! I promised that I'd give them something in exchange."  
  
The grizzled man holding the spear hesitated, apparently unsure of what to do. "What do they want?"  
  
"Something we took from them."  
  
"What sort of thing?"  
  
Amy wrinkled her nose. "A belt."  
  
"A belt?"  
  
"That's what they said."  
  
"I don't believe them," snapped the woman who held a short sword to Dart's throat. "Why would they go through all this trouble just to get a belt? They're probably in league with the Knighthood." She pressed her blade closer to my friend's windpipe. "I say we just take them out of the deal once and for all."  
  
"Cut that out, Yvette," came a voice from the back of the room, "We're thieves, not murderers. There's a difference, you know." There was a hesitation, then the voice continued. "Let them go. However lame their story may sound, there may actually be some truth to it."  
  
As the spearhead lowered, I sat up and took my first good look around the room, now that I didn't feel compelled to think about pointy pieces of metal sticking into my throat. It was low ceilinged, with dark beams crisscrossing overhead. The air smelled faintly of tabacco smoke, and here and there oil-burning lamps hung from thin chains along the walls. Aside from the pile of blankets I now sat on the room was void of decoration, although the number of doors leading off into darkened corridors made me feel as though I was sitting in the middle of a rabbit warren. We must be below the ground level, I realized. There was no other way that there could be a set up like this without anyone noticing.  
  
The man who had called off the aggressors stood in the back of the room, a small, oil lantern burning faintly in his left hand. He was dressed in the bright silks usually worn by the upper classes of Lohan, a bright red silk robe belted at the waist with a sash of black satin and leather sandals on his feet. He had long, shoulder length gray hair that would have hung down to about his shoulders had it not been pulled back into a ponytail. Note that I only said he had gray hair. This man couldn't have been much more than thirty years of age. Raising his lantern the man stepped towards us, watching our faces intently. "I must thank you two for rescuing Amy from the knighthood," he said quietly, "however strange your motive for doing so may seem. Ever since her parents died in a house fire three years ago, I've raised her as my daughter. I honestly don't know what I would have done had you not returned her." He paused, then brushed a strand of stray hair back out of his face. "My name is Martin," he said, bowing. "As you may have guessed, I am the head of this little organization. There is not one thief in Lohan that has not at some point taken orders from me, and not one item stolen that I do not know about. Come." Martin motioned for us to follow him, then started towards the back of the room. "A belt, you say?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It must have been a rather remarkable one, if one of my men bothered stealing. Although they must be credited for their skill if they managed to steal it off you with having you notice until later." Martin selected a door and pushed it open.  
  
Dart actually managed to look somewhat embarrassed. "I was unconscious at the time."  
  
"Oh," Our guide led us down a long, unlighted passageway, while Amy followed behind. The two who had been waving weapons in our faces had remained back to guard the hatch, I guessed. We walked along in silence until a second door finally appeared in the watery pool of light cast by Martin's lantern. Reaching into the sash at his waist, Martin drew out an old, beaten brass key and unlocked the door. Pushing it open, he motioned that we should go inside.  
  
Two rooms couldn't have been more different from one another. Whereas the room we had just left was dark, somewhat dank, and chilly, the room in which we now stood looked more like a nobleman's sitting room than a thieves den. The walls were paneled with a rich, full grained wood and covered with woven tapestries depicting the history of Serdio. Shimmering braziers radiated warmth from their places along the wall, and thick plush carpets covered the floor. The room was strewn with various types of furniture; men and women lounged upon most of these, drowsing quietly in the warmth of the nearest brazier. Here and there one or two men were still awake enough to play dice, although no one seemed to be keeping score. They glanced over and nodded to Martin when he entered, but other than that gave no sign that they even knew we were here.  
  
Martin surveyed the room, a slight smile on his features. "My family," he whispered to us by way of introduction. "For the most part they are castaways; orphans who have no home, or men and woman who are simply down on their luck and have no other way of supporting themselves. All of them, however, are as good or better than any other merchant in the city when it comes to their business. Which is usually taking someone else's." Stepping carefully over a sleeping child curled up on a pillow on the floor, Martin crossed the room to where a familiar, sour faced young man slept on a couch. Gently, he tapped the man on the head. "Brin, wake up. You've got some visitors."  
  
"Grrumssmm." Brin rolled over to look blearily at us through sleepy eyes. "Wha?"  
  
I waved at him cheerily, managing to pull off a fair imitation of Charle in the process. "Wakey, wakey!"  
  
Brin sat bolt upright, glaring at me. "You!"  
  
Martin glanced at his friend. "You know this man?"  
  
"This is the idiot I told you about who almost flattened me on the rooftops earlier tonight!" Brin snarled. All around us, the sleeping thieves were beginning to stir. "What in the name of Soa is he doing here?"  
  
"I understand that you took something of mine," Dart said, stepping forward, "We did a favor for Amy and I'd like my belt back as payment."  
  
Brin's eyes narrowed, and his hand went to his waist. Dart's belt was wrapped loosely around his middle. "Why should I? I kind of like it."  
  
"Give it back." Dart said quietly, his voice taking a slight edge to it. "If you don't, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to insist." He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.  
  
Brin glanced about nervously, first at Dart's sword, then back to his eyes that looked only slightly less dangerous by comparison. Last of all he looked at Martin, who simply shrugged, then nodded. Spitting bitterly in the nearest brazier, the thief stood and pulled off the belt. "Here, take it." He turned to leave, but was halted by Dart's hand grabbing his shoulder. "Wait a moment. Aren't you forgetting something?" Before the thief had a chance to answer, Dart lifted the belt. "There were five gemstones in these holders on the belt. Where are they?"  
  
Brin started to answer, but he was cut off as the door leading from the room with the hatchway banged open and Yvette rushed in.  
  
"Everybody run! The Knighthood's found the hatchway!"  
  
Immediately the room sprung to life. Children were roused from slumber and swept up into their parent's arms to escape, possessions were hastily grabbed and shoved into pockets and bags, and there was a general rush for the two doors that led, I guessed, deeper into the rabbit warren.  
  
Amid the confusion, however, one person acted with a perfectly clear mind. Grabbing one fist in the other, Brin stepped behind Dart and smashed him hard across the back of his head, using his two fists like a club. Dart's eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to the floor, for the second time that night knocked unconscious. Not wasting any time, Brin rushed towards the nearest door.  
  
"Bastard!" I yelled, but instead I crouched next to Dart and shook him hard. "C'mon! Get up!"  
  
"Stop that," Dart snarled, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. I drew back, startled, before I recognized the voice. Ragnarok was in control. I moved prudently out of the way as he shuddered again and pulled himself to his feet.  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
You can not even begin to understand the frustration I felt when Dart was able to surpress me that night. In all the years that I had been partnered to him, I'd almost always been able to get him to comply with my wishes, or if nothing else, bend him to my will. But that night, standing on the rooftop overlooking a crowd of cultist fanatics, he'd somehow managed to find the strength to resist me. Stupid human morals. The chance to permanently injure the cult had been there before our eyes, and yet because of him I'd been able to do nothing.  
  
Unfortunately, the boy doesn't always know his own strength. He didn't exactly banish me permanently from his mind, but he came close. I was forced to the absolute edge of his awareness, so far from his normal way of thinking that he wasn't even aware that I was still there. I guess I could have come back earlier, but in all truth, I wanted him to realize exactly what he had done. I guess in human terms it might be called childish, but I knew that if he suffered from this in some way then he wouldn't be likely to try it again, even though the pain he'd experienced while resisting me would probably be enough to deter him from doing that again.  
  
So you can imagine my elation when I felt his mind slip once again into unconsciousness. I hadn't been able to take control when this had happened earlier, but now that the restrictions he'd placed on me had seemed to have disappeared-  
  
Catching up to the man Dart's memory told me was named Brin, I grabbed him roughly by the scruff of his neck and jerked him none too gently onto his back. Snarling, I crouched over him and closed my hand around his throat. "Where are the stones?" I demanded. When he didn't answer right away, I grabbed him by the hand and twisted his wrist around. "I asked you, where are they?"  
  
Panicking, he started to talk very rapidly, his words bubbling out one over the other. "Okay! I'll tell! Just stop-arrgh! Stop it!" As I lessened the pressure, he took a breath. "They're in that bag at my waist. Take them! Just let me go!"  
  
Still holding tightly to his wrist, I tore the bag free. Jerking him to his feet, I shoved him towards the door. "Get out of my sight."  
  
When the last of the thieves had left the room, I loosened the drawstring on the bag and began to pull out the stones and return them to their resting place on the carrier belt. Behind me I could hear Garren pacing about the room, although he said nothing. As immature as that wingly may be, he does have more than smoke between his ears. He could tell I was angry. And like any sensible creature with half a brain, he was staying out of my way.  
  
I had just replaced the last of the spirits and was refastening the belt when the first of the knighthood burst into the room. They halted, apparently surprised at what they had found. "I bet you're wondering where the thieves went, aren't you gentlemen." I said, not looking up from my work. "Sorry, but I'm afraid that you just missed them." Pulling the leather tight into the buckle, I glanced over at Garren. "There's no point in you sticking around. Wait outside the town gates. I won't be long."  
  
Garren hesitated, apparently sizing up the knights, then shrugged. "If that's the way you want to do it. Try not to kill to many of them" He reminded and disappeared in a flash of green light.  
  
Turning around so that I was facing the knights, I drew my sword. "Only seven of you?" I asked, watching as they fanned out until they were surrounding me in a semi-circle. "Where's the rest of your knighthood? Pity. I was hoping for some entertainment." Lifting my blade, I ran my tongue along the edge of it. "Oh well. I guess you'll have to do."  
  
  
  
SHADE IS A PROCASTINATOR!  
  
Yes, yes I am. I guess I could pass it off as several consecutive cases of writers' block, but that big 'P' word up there would probably be the truth of the matter.  
  
If I can throw off my further procrastination urges and keep myself away from that beautiful machine that they call the Play Station 2, then I hope to have the first side story posted for Easter Monday. I don't know if I can find the time to get it done, but I'll tell you after I've finished. 


	22. Side Story1

A single candle guttered on a small, cluttered table, spilling it's light over scraps of ink-smeared and crumpled parchment. Several heavy books, their covers denoting the assorted histories of Endiness, were strewn across the table and stacked in disorderly heaps on the floor, which was, for the record, even more cluttered than the table, if possible. Staring around the room, Orion shook his head, despairing over the mess. He really ought to clean it up, but all that ever did was stir up dust and help him to loose his train of thought. As it was, he was so forgetful that often he would start a sentence and not remember how he was going to finish, giving his speech a curious halting quality. He certainly didn't need any help to forget things. Perhaps it _was_ just a little bit too dusty in here though… Getting to his feet, he picked his way though the litter to the window and pushed it open, letting the cool night air waft into the room. There. Much better.

Orion paused for a moment, staring out over the town. He loved Fletz at night; from his vantage point he could see the twin towers of the castle rising high above the city, twin spires of ivory and silver reaching up to pierce the depths of the night. Below it the city was a sea of soft light, the glow of a thousand muted lanterns coalescing into a dim halo that hung low over the flattened rooftops and touched the lower walls of the palace with a faint golden light.

He heaved a sigh and returned to the creaky wooden stool at his work table, stepping carefully over a heap of discarded pages and notes. For the past several years he had committed all of his efforts to the compilation of a single, all-encompassing volume that would chronicle the assorted histories of Endiness. _All _of it, not just the recent stuff that the royal historians were producing nowadays. Orion smiled to himself as he pulled a book from where it had been suffocating beneath a sheaf of clean parchment and began to thumb through its age-stained pages. Ever since his youth, he had always been fascinated by the tales of the Dragon Campaign and its more recent, better-documented counterpart, often referred to as simply the Cygnet War. Yet as he had grown older and learned to read, he had found that what little information there was concerning these two events was repetitive and difficult to find.

So it was that in his fifty-second year he finally decided, after years of plowing through what ill-informed texts on the subject he could find in the Tiberioan National Library, that if no one else could be bothered to get the facts straight, then he, at least, would. For the past several years now Orion had traveled across the continent, gathering information from every possible source, although most of what he learned came out of the old lore and legends told to him by ministers or priests.

The fruit of his efforts now lay next to him in an untidy stack on the floor, set apart slightly from the rest of the clutter. Since he couldn't depend on his memory to aid him, he'd been forced to take notes whenever he could manage. They were a messy bit of work, but the information contained within those crackling sheets of parchment was invaluable to his work. Somewhere amid the ink smears and dead-end jots was, he liked to think, the true knowledge of the Dragon Campaign and the Dragoons. He even had some interesting storied of the Black Monster. Collecting all of this had been difficult enough, but, as he had discovered, it hadn't been a candle compared to having to somehow sort this mess into a chronicled order. But now he was nearly finished; he was down to the last few chapters.

Putting aside the book he had been leafing through, he pulled out a blank piece of parchment, dipped his quill into his leaky clay inkpot, and held it posed over the paper. Where had he left off…? Oh yes. The brief histories of the assorted dragoons from both the Dragon Campaign and the Cygnet War. Glancing down at a finished sheet laying on top of a neat stack, he scanned through the names. He had finished his writings on the Dragoons of the Dragon Campaign several nights before; that just left the men and woman from the Cygnet War. Albert, Lavitz, Shana, Meru- he had finished, in fact, all of the histories with the exception of the darkness and fire dragoons.

More shuffling through the mess of papers beside his stool. Finally Orion found the sheet he had been searching for. The parchment was torn in one corner, and at some point or another someone had spilt ale on it, but the scribbled writing was still legible, if just barely. Setting the quill to the parchment, he began to write.

'Of the Dragoons, perhaps the most mysterious character of all was the Dark Dragoon Rose. Undoubtedly named for the young woman who bore the same dragon spirit during the Dragon Campaign, Rose appeared quite suddenly in the records of the royal kingdoms, apparently acting as a mentor and guide to the other dragoons. Little is known about her past or where she originated from, but it is fact that by the time that she entered the conflict she had already mastered her abilities as a dragoon. She is often described as having been tall for a woman with long black hair, dark eyes, carrying a rapier and having a commanding manner. She was killed during the final battle of the conflict, about which little is known.'

Putting his quill back into his inkpot, Orion stretched and yawned, hearing his shoulders creak and crunch with the movement. Somewhere out in the town a clock struck one, the bell's tolling echoing softly through the streets. That late already? Orion wiped his eyes again, and stifled a second yawn. He scanned through the rest of the sheet, but found no other information referring to the Dark Dragoon. Tossing the notes back down onto the floor, he dipped into the stack and pulled out yet another handful of papers. Sorting quickly through them, he selected two sheets, held together at the corner with a dab of blue wax. Breaking them apart, Orion glanced at the contents.

The notes on this page had to do mostly with the Black Monster, although there was a section near the end that concerned his last subject, Dart Feld. Settling himself down, he lifted his pen back out of the pot and began to write, reading from the notes and scribbling down sentences in alternate turns.

'As with in the Dragon Campaign, once again it was the Dragoon of Fire that took charge of the strange group of individuals. Dart Feld was born in the village of Neet in eastern Mille Seseau. The village was later destroyed during an assault from the Black Monster, but Feld was able to escape the inferno by hiding in the forest. He was then taken to the village of Seles in Serdio, where he lived until well into his teens. After living with his adoptive family for some years, he left the quiet village taking with him only a broadsword, in hopes of hunting down and exacting revenge on the creature that had destroyed his home. After criss-crossing the continent several times he eventually returned to Seles, only to find it in flames. Little is known of what happened afterwards, but several weeks later he once again reappeared in Hoax in the company of his childhood friend Shana, and the knight Lavitz Slambert. During their stay, the Sandoras made an assault on the fortress. The details of the battle are not clear, but it is known that near the climax of the battle the Sandora's Giganto appeared, wreaking havoc amongst the already disheartened Serdian troops. It was then that Dart and Sir Lavitz challenged the giant in combat. They fought hard, but eventually the tide turned against them. Then, just as the outcome looked bleak, Dart harnessed the power of his dragoon spirit to become the Dragon Knight of legend.'

Orion paused and dipped his quill deep into the pot, re-reading his work. A little over done, perhaps, but at least he had more information to work with. It was an old story that he had found hidden in a dusty study in a Knighthood outpost in Hoax; apparently, it was an eye-witness account. Quickly he jotted down the brief description he had been given of the man, then turned his eyes back to the paper. Scanning quickly through the remainder of his notes, he frowned. That couldn't be right. According to the sheet, Feld had led the dragoons into the final battle and they had come out victorious, although Rose's life had been lost. After this he was married to Shana, returned to Seles where they lived together until her sudden death by illness several years later. And after that…

Orion flipped the paper over, but there was nothing on the back. Cursing to himself, he re-read the material. When had the dragoon died? He had been able to find the death date of all the other dragoons, more or less. All of the dragoons from the Dragon Campaign had perished during their last stand, although the humans still were victorious. Even the rest of the dragoons from the more recent crisis had their deaths well documented. But as for this one- all records abruptly stopped about eight years after the end of the crisis. That could mean one of two things: that he had died, or that he had simply renounced his identity and returned to his travels.

Frustrated, he set aside the paper on which he had been writing and pulled out a second sheet of parchment, this one also unfinished. The heading to this page was written with a flourish; large, ornately curling letters spelt out 'The Black Monster' with far much more grandeur than should have been associated with that accursed name. Seeking a change of topic, Orion read over his unfinished work once or twice, brow furrowing slightly as he noted not for the first time some of the particulars of the information. For eleven millennia the Black Monster had appeared constantly every 108 years to destroy the Moon Child and whatever else had come into contact with it. Yet abruptly the pattern was broken; eighteen years after the Cygnet War ended the Monster reappeared, taking with it the life of yet another innocent. Since then the Black Monster had reappeared once again every 108 years, and each of his visits spelt certain doom for his targets.

Rubbing his eyes, Orion stared blankly into the shadows of his ill-lit room, trying to pull his thoughts into order. Feld disappears, then ten years later the Black Monster reappears? Absently, he wondered whether the two instances might have been connected in some way. Maybe Feld had caught wind of the Black Monster, and resumed his hunt once more only to be killed when his query turned on him? Or maybe the two events were more intimately connected? Orion sat up abruptly, suddenly feeling quite wide-awake. Maybe there was more to all of this than there appeared to be on the surface? Maybe- what if-

But before he could finish the thought, his musings were loudly interrupted as two stray dogs in the street below broke out into a row, snapping and snarling at one another as each struggled to tear sizeable chunks out of the other's ear and or tail. Staggering over to the window, Orion leaned out and started to bawl curses at the mutts, going so far as to pull his boot off of his foot and hurl it at them. The heavy wooden heel of the boot struck one of the animals sharply in the rear, causing the mutt to flee off into the night, yelping in panic as the other dog followed hot on his heels.

Still muttering absently to himself, Orion reseated himself at the table. Picking up his quill, he prepared to write, but quite suddenly realized that he couldn't remember what he had been thinking. The late hour had caught up with him at last. Disgustedly, Orion tossed his quill back down onto the table. Oh well. Pushing the scattered leaves of parchment into a pile, Orion closed the window and replaced the stopper in his inkpot. With one final glance at his workspace, he blew out the candle and slipped out of the room and into the hall, padding off in the direction of his bedchambers. After all, it couldn't have been that important.

Could it?


	23. Faded

CONTENT REVISED 13/11/05

* * *

**Garren's POV:**

I don't like riding horses.

Yes, I'm aware that after fifty years or so of traveling back and forth across Endiness I should be more than used to it, but I've never quite caught on to the trick of sitting on a beast and directing it with my hands and legs. My coordination never really developed properly in that area. So you can imagine my reaction when Ragnarok told me to buy some horses so that we might get out of Lohan without attracting too much suspicion. I can't fault his reasoning, but I can't help to think that it would have been a hell of a lot easier simply to teleport or fly out of there. Mind you, I wasn't about to tell him that. He was actually in a good mood when he met me at the city gates- but when the fact that he was in such good humor stemmed mostly from the fact that he had been practically handed a half dozen knights on a silver platter… well, you get the idea.

So it was that dawn found us pounding north through the narrow, rocky passes that led through the mountains of southern Serdio toward the Tiberoian boarder some distance to the north. Guiding my mount across the treacherous ground as best as I could, I hazarded a glance back at Ragnarok who was trailing along about twenty feet behind me. My stoic companion hardly moved in the saddle as his mount galloped, more out of fear of the rider, I guessed, than out of any actual obedience. His eyes still retained the flat, dangerous appearance that told me that Dart was not yet back in control.

Frowning, I turned my attention back to the trail. That was strange. Dart couldn't still be out from that blow to the head; I'd seen him recover faster from worse injuries than that. He must have been talking with the dragon, I surmised finally. That settled, I let my mind wander onto other matters.

It had been fifty years since I had left Ulara. I was well over four hundred, but fifty years is a long time for anyone to be away from home. The time I'd spent wandering across Endiness had been had been a blast, to be sure, but lately I'd found myself thinking more and more about my hometown. I'd been surprised to find that I actually missed the place; the people, the waterfalls, even the damn, monotonous weather system. Well, maybe not that. But after spending a few winters in Mille Seseau, I'd decided that we could definitely use some snow. For some reason, I'd developed some deep inner need to catch my friend Nova unaware with a couple rounds of snowballs. Of course, she'd probably light my hair on fire if I ever tried it, but still.

"Look out!" Ragnarok yelled sharply from behind me.

"Huh?" I snapped out of my reverie and looked back at him. "What?"

WHAM.

So much for that warning. Not watching where I was going, I rode straight into a low branch that hung suspended across the rocky trail at about chest height. It swept me backwards over the tail of my mount, and I landed with a _thud_ in the cloud of dust covering the trail. I lay there on my back for a moment, staring up at the grayish dawn sky and trying to find my wind while Ragnarok reined in his terrified horse next to me.

"Couldn't you save the acrobatics until we get back to Ulara?" He asked, jerking on the reins as he tried to still his prancing mount.

I grumbled a reply, then sat up. Far off down the trail could be seen my horse, pounding along over the dusty trail. Pleadingly, I looked up at Ragnarok.

"Catch it." He said flatly. "We still have a long ways to go."

Gingerly, I got to my feet and started to pull in my energy. Why did I bother looking for pity from that dragon anyway?

The horse seemed surprised when I appeared out of thin air to land on its back. Well, I guess 'surprised' would be an understatement. 'Shell- shocked' would probably be a more accurate term. At any rate, the moment he felt my weight upon his back, he started to buck; great vaulting leaps that took me from saddle to air and back again within the space of two heartbeats. I guess he had been anticipating some sort of freedom when he started running because he seemed determined to get me back onto the ground again. He probably would have managed it too, had not Ragnarok trotted up, wearing an expression that could have turned rocks to dust. He glared at my carousing mount. "What do you think you're doing?" he barked, more to my horse, I guessed, than to me.

My horse halted in mid-buck, coming back to earth with a jolt that clicked my teeth together audibly as we landed. Rubbing my jaw, I glared accusingly at Ragnarok, who sat unperturbed on his shaking, exhausted horse. "Couldn't have given me any warning now, could have you?"

"You wouldn't have heard me." He watched as I disentangled myself from the reins and slipped my feet back into the stirrups. "Let's hurry up. If memory serves, there's a small village farther to the north of here." Without another word, he nudged his wearied mount back into a jolting trot and brushed past me, continuing along the trail.

My horse twisted his head around to look questioningly back at me. Nudging him with my heels, I stuck out my tongue at him. "You deserved it."

**Ragnarok's POV:**

We reached the aforementioned village a short time after sunrise. It wasn't much, even by village standards. It consisted mostly of a small cluster of dusty huts all huddled around the south shore of a small lake that's still surface reflected back the burning sun like a polished glass mirror. Even though it was early, shimmering heat waves had already begun to rise off of the baking rocks lining the roadside. Although we were still quite a ways a way from official Tiberoian territory, it seemed that the barren countryside around here shared similar weather characteristics with its neighbor. The sun had hardly risen, and already the day was showing every promise of becoming something akin to a low burning oven. Oh, the joys of inconsistent summer weather.

(We need to rest) Dart informed me quietly. (You've been pushing my body pretty hard all night, and sooner or later it's going to start to shut down. And Garren isn't holding up much better) Dart hadn't said very much since he had come around, but he had made no effort to wrest control of his body back from me. Of that much, I was glad. This is not to say that I had forgiven him; on the contrary, I still refused to respond to his thoughts.

Glancing back at Garren, however, I had to concede that he had a point. The wingly, although he seemed alert, swayed dangerously in the saddle as he rode. The twenty-four hours without sleep, coupled with his normal resting patterns, were taking their toll. Galloping into that branch earlier that morning probably hadn't helped him any either.

I slowed my mount to a walk as we turned down the single street that wound between the houses. The village was quiet; for the most part its residents were probably still asleep. Only the women were out and about; they carried sloshing buckets of well water back to their homes, or could be seen crouched next to the shore of the lake, doing laundry. Plodding through the sleepy settlement we halted in front of a low, whitewashed building with a cracked sign with faded lettering identifying it as the inn. Handing our mounts over to the mousy looking stable boy that jogged out to meet us, I climbed the stairs and ducked through the half door, Garren stumbling along behind me.

The innkeeper was a tightlipped man of middle years with stern eyes and a decided limp in his left leg. He showed us wordlessly to our rooms, then demanded a price that made even me wince. After our stay in Lohan our funds were low, and the cost for the less than adequate lodgings cut quite deeply into the little gold that was left to us. After the innkeeper left, Garren and I parted to our respective rooms, each of us making a beeline for the lumpy beds. Kicking my gear into a corner, I pulled off my grime-covered boots and jacket and tossed them onto a spindly looking chair. Then I flopped onto the bed and closed my eyes. No sooner than I had done this I felt myself once again being pushed off to one side as Dart, immediately seizing the opportunity, went to sleep.

Dart slept through the better part of the day, if it could be called that. I couldn't actually feel it, but I could sense the oppressive heat pressing in on the whitewashed building on all sides, slowly heating the stones as though to turn the whole building into an oven. However the room in which we stayed remained surprisingly cool throughout the day, even if the lack of air circulation caused by the closed door left the air feeling dry and stale. The heat had just begun to recede with the lowering sun when Dart finally woke up, slightly disoriented by the near darkness of the room.

(What time is it?) He asked, somewhat groggily.

I decided that he'd suffered enough. ((Some time before sunset. Time to get moving)) I told him shortly. ((We've wasted enough time here already))

It took some time to wake Garren up. Under normal circumstances that wingly isn't too heavy a sleeper, but it seemed that he was even more worn out than I had previously thought. He seemed rather relieved when he awoke to find Dart in control, though. Just a suspicion, but I think that I make him nervous at times.

We grabbed a quick meal downstairs in the tavern portion of the inn before sending for our mounts and starting out again. Over the years I've noticed that particularity in human inns: no matter where in Endiness they were to be found, there was almost always a tavern either downstairs or next door. The two establishments, rather than competing in the customary fashion of businesses world over, seemed to thrive off of one another.

The sun was hardly more than a bright smear of orange-red on the horizon as Dart and Garren urged their horses into a canter on the stony road that meandered along the edge of the lake. The beasts, although still not completely recuperated from last night's race from Lohan, nonetheless seemed much the better for their day-long rest and moved with an energy that they had lacked that morning. That wouldn't last for long. They would only be able to cover half the distance we had the night before, and that was without pushing them too hard. As the evening sky slowly faded into night the Moon's glow steadily grew brighter, lighting up the road and the jagged landscape surrounding it. I don't like that eyesore hanging in the sky the way it does, but I will admit that it does make a very good lantern.

It took us four more days to reach Fletz. Coated in travel dust, Dart and Garren rode their plodding mounts through the city gates with hardly a glance from the towering, dark-skinned men whom traditionally guarded the palace and city. It was still early morning and the town was just waking up; here and there could be seen the shopkeepers throwing open their shutters and unlocking the doors to their shops. A young acolyte stood sweeping on the steps of the Star Temple, singing quietly to herself and waving to the odd townsmen as they walked by.

Dismounting and handing his reins over to Garren, Dart gave his horse a pat on the neck. "Go see if you can't sell these poor guys. We're not going to get anymore out of them, and we don't really have the money to stable ourselves, much less them."

"Fine by me. Where are you going?"

Dart pulled off his grimy bandana and wiped his forehead. "I'm going to see if I can't sell some of our accessories. We have too much to carry around conveniently anyhow." He shoved his bandana into his pocket and started off down the street.

((We need to pick up a few more potions)) I told him as he ducked into the shop. ((I used up the last of them in Lohan))

(What did you need them for?)

((Nothing really. Some of those idiots from the knighthood mistook me for a thief while I was busy retrieving the spirits. One of them managed to nick me fairly good in the side, so I needed to patch myself up))

(That explains the mark) Dart murmured. (I'd wondered about that. What did you do with them?) he asked while he rifled through his pockets, looking for something that might possibly interest the beady-eyed shopkeeper.

((What do you think? One or two of them might have been able to stand when I left, but I wasn't too worried about them trying to follow. You might want to avoid Lohan for the next couple of years though, just in case))

Dart groaned, and placed an item rather carelessly on the counter. It was a slightly rumpled silk scarf, fringed with woven gold. It wasn't much to look at, but humans are suspicious, and set quite a bit of store by carrying talismans into battle. Judging from the expression on the shopkeeper's face as he carefully lifted it up, this one had some importance. I guess that the trade in rare items must have been a little dry at the time. Wordlessly, he paid the price Dart offered it to him at, not even bothering to barter. Dart quickly counted out the gold, then slipped the bag into his pocket and then began negotiating with the shopkeeper about the price of his potions.

When Dart had finished his business in the shops, he wandered down towards the waterfront at my direction. (So what was it you wanted to see?)

((That)) I said grimly as he rounded a corner. It looked as though the cult chapter in Bale was not the only one that had decided that the God of Destruction deserved a temple. A large stone shrine, built from the customary snowy white stone, dominated the end of the avenue. As we drew closer, I could see a steady stream of people entering and leaving the shrine, gathering to talk in little clusters near the doorstep. ((They've expanded))

(So it would seem) Dart stepped back to the side of the narrow street, letting the flow of traffic pass by. (Do you want to take a look around? But don't do anything. Most of those people look like they're housewives. They're probably just here to socialize)

((Spoilsport)) I grumbled. ((Fine. I won't touch anything))

(Swear?)

((Promise. Honestly, when did you decide to become so childish about all of this?))

(Just let it lie, Ark)

**Dart's POV:**

The shrine was packed end to end with people. This wasn't saying much, mind you, because this particular room in the shrine wasn't very large to begin with. Weaving my way through the crowd, I slowly made my way to the front of the room.

A familiar face stood at the pulpit. Dressed once again in his green robes, the eloquent man from Lohan was delivering yet another of his sermons. Slipping into a niche in the wall, I wondered vaguely how he'd managed to beat us to Fletz.

((He must have come by ship)) said Ark. ((It's only a few days to Doneau by water, and if he had a fast boat, he could have been here for a day or two now)) He paused for a moment to listen to the fanatic's speech, then glanced around the crowded room. ((He doesn't seem to be having the same effect on the crowd here, do you notice?)) He commented.

I frowned and looked around closely at the people closest to me. Ark was right. Here and there could see a faint glimmer of something that might have approached interest in the odd person's eyes, but for the most part his audience seemed only to be listening out of politeness. (Probably because they're sober. It must be more difficult for them to gain followers without a Moon Child. He's a good speaker, but I think he's having some trouble giving weight to his words)

((Hmm)) Ark listened for a few more moments. (( He is good, though. Leave him here long enough, and he might actually achieve something. We should probably do something about him))

(No killing) I stated firmly.

((Why would I do that?)) Ark sounded a bit petulant, then suddenly brightened up. ((This man is obviously very important to the cult right now, wouldn't you agree? It'd be a shame to off someone as talented as he is))

I blinked, confused by his sudden change of tone, then narrowed my eyes suspiciously. (What are you thinking, Ark? First you want to kill him, and now you'd rather just let him walk free? What are you up to?))

((Nothing homicidal, I assure you)) He actually seemed ready to laugh now. ((I think you'll rather like this one, Dart. Now hush. The good man is obviously putting a lot of effort into his speech. The very least we can do is pay attention))

Baffled, I stood quietly through the rest of the sermon while my Ragnarok listened quite happily to the voice of the energetic young man. His amusement seemed to grow with every word; by the time the speech was finished, I was amazed that he wasn't laughing out loud. Not knowing what else to do, I waited to see what he would do, curiosity overpowering my caution at his delight. The speech presently came to an end, and as one, the crowd began to filter back out through the large double doors into the open plaza. At Ark's direction, however, I stayed put. It wasn't until the monk headed towards the small door at the back of the shrine that he brushed me to one side and took control, tailing the man quietly into the next room.

It wasn't a very large room; it was more of a storage place than anything else, though what for I couldn't imagine. At present, the young man seemed to be using it as his quarters. A small heap of blankets had been pushed back into the corner, and a bowl of wash water sat on a rickety chair beside it. The cultist knelt before it, sloshing the water over his face and neck. Giving speeches, it seemed, was a tiring business. He glanced back over his shoulder as Ark entered, water dripping from his hair onto the neck of his robe.

"Hello? May I help you?" He asked politely. He sat back on his heels, shaking the wet from his hands.

"I think so," Ark said. "In fact, I'm almost positive you can." Surreptitiously, he reached back and nudged the door a bit farther closed with his heel. "Are you on good terms with the other preists in the city?"

The cultists' chest swelled importantly. "Not just this city, friend. I am personally-"

"Excellent," Ark breathed, not bothering to let him finish. "And they rely on you?"

The man must have caught the look in his eyes, because he hesitated. "Sir?"

Ark smiled amiably at him. I could almost see the thoughts clicking through the young man's head, as he slowly began to question the situation. (Not too bright, his he?) I commented, still wondering what Ark planned on doing next. Ark could see into my thoughts, but I couldn't see into his. In a way it was a good thing, but I couldn't help but feel at the same time that it was horribly unfair.

((Like a burned out candle)) Ark replied happily. ((Makes damn good speeches, though))

The young man seemed to realize he was in trouble now. In a rush he got to his feet, knocking the washbowl from the chair as he did so. The basin cracked as it hit the floor, and water splashed over the tiles.

"Look," he said urgently, "one word, and I can have all the guards in the shrine in here in an instant."

((And that would be what, two?)) Ark spread his hands wide, affecting an innocent look. He almost might have pulled it off too, were it not for the laughter in his eyes. "Now what possible need could we have for that? We're all brought together in the name of the Moon Child, isn't that what you said in your speech?"

"My speech?" The man looked a bit confused. Ark took a small step toward him, but he didn't appear to notice.

"Yup. Your speech." He nodded, that worrying smile never leaving his face. Then without changing expression he lunged forward, seizing the man's head in both hands. ((Dart! Relax your mind! Now!))

Without thinking, I obeyed. There was a slight tingle as Ark drew his power through me, then nothing. Between his hands, the cultist stopped struggling. As Ark carefully let go he slumped to his knees, his eyes unfocused and his mouth slack. Crouching next to him, Ark peeled back one eyelid professionally, nodding with satisfaction at whatever it was he apparently saw. ((Good enough. We can leave him here, I think. Someone I'll find him sooner or later, but it won't do much good))

(That sounds a bit ominous, Ark)

((Does it really?))

(Yes, it does. What did you do to him? He looks like you just hit him upside the head with a plank)

((Hardly)) He snorted. ((You said no violence, right? There you go. No violence))

(What did you do?)

((I just stunned him, Dart. It's nothing serious. I doubt it even hurt him. He'll be up and about again in a few minutes, don't worry)) He got to his feet again, grinning.

(Maybe I should rephrase that. What _else_ did you do to him?)

((Nothing all that much. Tell me, have you ever heard of amnesia?))

It took a few moments for the implications of what he'd said to sink in. When I realized what he'd just done, I began to laugh uncontrollably. (You're horrible, you know that?)

((I know)) Ark said smugly, returning to the main room of the shrine and exiting the building. ((Just imagine the reaction of the high priest when he realizes that he doesn't have anyone to convert the masses for him anymore? And the best part is, they'll probably spend the rest of their lives trying to make him remember why he was converting people))

(Is amnesia curable?)

((Not in this particular case, no)) Ark smiled broadly as I took over once more and headed back towards the center of town. ((I'm going to have to remember this. The notion of driving the cultists to distraction with something like this is almost as much fun as killing them))

It was about ten thirty or so when I found my way back to the stables. Garren was seated on a couple of hay bales outside next to the watering trough. I couldn't help but notice that he was still holding the horses. He had removed their saddles and bridles and was now letting them feed on some of the hay he'd thrown down for them.

"You didn't sell them yet?" I asked once I was within earshot.

Garren made a face. "No. The stable manager said that he couldn't afford to buy them, and that he doesn't have the room to board them. He did say that he knew someone who might want to buy them off us though. He told me to wait here."

"Good enough." I pulled off my jacket and leaned against the wall behind me, enjoying the feel of the cool stone against my back. "I managed to sell something earlier, so we're not broke any more."

"Neh." Garren closed his eyes and let his head tilt forward onto his chest. A few minutes later he was snoring peacefully.

It was another fifteen minutes or so before the prospective buyer came around. He was a short man of about fifty or so with a rapidly receding hairline dressed in a light tunic and breeches that came down just past the knees. In one hand he held a thick, leather bound book. Coming over, he peered good-naturedly at my sleeping friend and myself. "Excuse me, but are you the gentlemen Mr. Knut told me had some horses that they were willing to sell?"

"Probably, if Mr. Knut is the guy who runs the stable around here." I glanced at the horses. "They've been ridden pretty hard-"

((Hey, don't blame me))

"- but they're still sound."

"That doesn't matter." The man sighed in relief. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever find someone who could sell me a horse." He extended his hand. "My name's Orion."

"Vin." I shook his hand. "The sleeping one's Garren. So, why do you need the horses so badly?"

"I'm supposed to be catching a boat in a day or two to Mille Seseau." Orion smiled ruefully. "It would only take a few days to walk to Doneau, but I lost time finding someone to bind this properly." He glanced down at the book he held in his hand. "I've spent the last several years of my life compiling this, and I'd throw a fit if it ended up in the collection of some backcountry lord."

"You're planning to take it to Deningrad? May I see?" Taking the proffered book, I glanced at the title. "You wrote about the Dragoons?"

"And whatever else is associated with them." Orion laughed. "I have a minor obsession with certain events of the past, you see."

I flipped through the pages of the book with unfeigned interest. It was well written with great attention to detail. I stopped when I came to the page with my name written across the top and briefly scanned through the information. I noted with some satisfaction that it said little about my life after the Cygnet War.

"Tricky matter, that one," Orion said, noting the page on which I had stopped. "His life is well documented up to a point, and then all records just stop. At least with the other dragoons their deaths are chronicled, but Dart Feld-" he shook his head. "It's like he just vanished. I looked for years, but I never could find what happened to him."

"You did a good job," I commented, returning the book. "That's probably the best one I've seen yet, including those in the library in Deningrad."

"You think so?" Orion beamed. "Glad to hear it. I've put a lot of work into this." Getting to his feet, he reached for his purse. "So how much will it be for the two of them?"

"What? Oh, right. Say four hundred? Thanks." Taking the money, I untied the reins from the hitching post and held them while the old man mounted. "Have a good trip."

"Same to you and your friend," Orion replied, turning his mount towards the gate and nudging the horse into a grudging trot.

Sitting down again, I watched him disappear through the city gates. Even after he left, I continued to stare off into the distance.

"He just vanishes, huh?" I repeated quietly, watching the heat waves rising off of the rocks outside the gate.

"Whaa?" Garren yawned and sat up. "D'you say something?"

"Never mind. It's nothing."

* * *

Slowly working my way through the revisions, in no particular order.


	24. Shadows

Ragnarok: Inspiration is a fickle thing.  
  
No kidding there. I recently received some rather upsetting news about one of my friends, so my spirit has been somewhat dampened of late. After a temporary revival for the last chapter, my muse seems to be dancing a hornpipe with my spelling abilities (FELD! Not FIELD! **wacks self in head**) somewhere atop of Cape Smokey, and in general I've been fretting over my Rider Tests and when I can find the time to snatch up my drivers license. And we have a drama production at the end of the week. STRESS!  
  
**Runs off to hide in a corner, shuddering and whispering** Charle controls the weather.  
  
  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
The remainder of the trip back to Ulara was taken in several stages. After a short stay in Fletz, we hired out a small fishing vessel with a rather desperate seeming captain to ferry us to the coast of the Death Frontier. After three or four days spent in the cramped, fish-smelling cabins of the boat we made landfall on a rocky beach several miles south of the desolate barrens that covered the bulk of this part of the continent. We skirted the edges of the wasteland for several days or so, reluctant to leave behind the wind and water of the coast that was so scarce in the heart of the desert. When one night we finally did make the last leg of the journey across the shifting sands to Ulara it was a quick but strenuous one, composed mostly of a hurried pace over the dunes and taking full advantage of Garren's teleportation abilities at the same time. When Dart and Garren finally dragged their exhausted bodies up the weathered stone steps leading to the tower that housed the warp pad into Ulara, it had been nearly three weeks since our flight from Lohan.  
  
Rubbing grit out of his eyes, Dart paused at the top of the stair and turned to stare with blurred vision out at the sun rising on the horizon, waves of heat already rising from the red sands to lick at the edges of the orb. /It's been a while/  
  
//Mmmm// I agreed as Garren brushed past us, hurrying into the shaded walls of the fallen tower. //For someone who was so eager to leave, that kid seems anxious to get back home// I noted.  
  
"C'mon, Dart! What's keeping you?" Garren actually seemed to squirm as Dart followed him into the ruins. "At the rate you're moving, it'll be noon before you even rev this thing up!" He kicked at the sand-covered pad, which was glowing softly in the shadows.  
  
"You know, maybe I should leave you out here for a couple more hours. The heat might teach you some patience." Dart muttered as he stepped onto the warp pad. "I could, you know."  
  
Garren grinned as the hum of magic began to fill the air. "You could, but Nova would probably gut you for making her wait to scold me. That girl loves to yell at me, for some reason. Y'know-" further opportunity for conversation was cut short as the hum turned to a roar as the teleport kicked into life, enveloping the two within a sheet of green light. I suddenly had the feeling that I we were moving at a great speed, although I could see nothing through the veil of magic surrounding us. I could feel Dart flinching back from the magic's brief touch on his mind as we passed through; idly I wondered what caused his reactions to the wingly magic. The pain he felt was understandable after his harsh experience in Aglis, but that he would still feel the aftereffects of it now, more than an hundred years after the fact? I made a brief mental note to look into this later on when I found the leisure.  
  
Abruptly the ride ended. As the green globe surrounding us evaporated, it became replaced with the cool air and lush verdancy of Ulara. Stepping off of the warp pad, Garren hooked his thumbs in the waistline of his pants and looked around, still grinning broadly. "I can't believe that I'm saying this, but it's good to be back in boring old Ulara." He watched as the simulated sunrise slowly stained the sky a pale shade of purple. "Looks like Charle's tampering with the weather. Wonder if she knows we're back yet?"  
  
I was willing to bet that she was. As we watched, the sky slowly changed from a pale mauve to pink, the color slowly deepening into a rose. After a moment the sky seemed to flicker, then sank into a deep, sooty red. Somewhere in the 'distance' thunder began to rumble sullenly and heavy black clouds began to form upon the horizon.  
  
//You know what? I think the old bat knows we're back//  
  
/No kidding. Think she'll be happy to see us?/  
  
//Us? Sure. Him?// I paused as I caught sight of a familiar figure stalking down the walkways towards us. //We may have to sew him back together again once they've finished with him. Hold on: I think that the furies are about to descend upon us//  
  
One fury, to be precise. Nova Alahana sprinted across the last few meters of walkway and caught Garren with a flying embrace, sending them both to the ground in a tangled heap. For a moment she just clung to him, head buried into his shoulder, making little sobbing sounds that I assumed related somehow to happiness. Humans and winglies are strange creatures. When they're pushed to the limits in terms of fear and anger they laugh, yet when they're exceedingly happy or amused, they cry. Garren returned the embrace, stroking her hair softly and muttering to her quietly with a strange expression on his face.  
  
/Looks like he might escape that scolding he was talking about/  
  
*SMACK*  
  
//Not likely//  
  
Garren tumbled backwards, one hand clapped to his reddened cheek. Nova, displaying yet again her amazing tendency towards instantaneous mood swings, climbed to her feet with her eyes blazing. "You!" She screeched, pointing one threatening finger at the wingly on the stones before her. "Do you have any idea of what you've just put us through, you idiot?!"  
  
"Hello to you too, Nova," Garren winced, rubbing his cheek and climbing back to his feet.  
  
"Don't you give me that! Where were you?!"  
  
"I got bored, so I decided to go hang with Dart for a while." He replied, dusting himself off and straightening his clothes.  
  
Garren's calm answer, however placating it may have sounded to the untrained ear, only served to spur the raging wingly on to new hights. "You got bored? BORED?!" Nova's voice, already in the upper ranges of human hearing, jumped up an octave. "Do you want me to tell you what bored is? 'BORED' is sitting around on my ass for fifty years, wondering what to do without you around! 'BORED' is living in a constant fit because you don't know if your idiot best friend is alive or dead! 'BORED' is having to try to convince the elders that that same idiotic friend, assuming that he DOES return alive, doesn't deserve to be banished to Zenebatos for the rest of his life, keeping an eye on those damned laptos!" Here Nova paused for a breather, letting some of the color drain back out of her beet-red face. Still shooting glares in the direction of her cringing friend, she pushed a strand of platinum hair out of her eyes and turned to face us.  
  
Involuntarily Dart took a few steps back, safely out of range of her hands.  
  
"Dart. Ragnarok. I hope this idiot didn't cause too many problems for you." She greeted us, her voice once again returning to its normal husky tones. As Garren slipped up behind her she kicked out viciously to the back without looking, catching him just below the kneecap.  
  
"He behaved himself quite well, actually," Dart replied, struggling not to laugh as Garren hopped about on one foot in the background, clutching his knee to his chest and swearing through gritted teeth.  
  
//He did?//  
  
/Did he get arrested more than once?/  
  
//No//  
  
/Then that's good enough for me/ Dart started to edge back as Nova turned about to face Garren once more. The wingly drew back to the wall of the platform, keeping a wary eye on Nova's feet while she looked him over, silently appraising him.  
  
"You've aged." She said accusingly.  
  
Garren sighed. "That usually happens in the real world. So now I look twenty-five rather than twenty. Big deal. Why are you so mad about this? It's not exactly your place to scold me like this."  
  
For a moment Nova looked as though she might kick him again, but somehow she managed to restrain herself. "Very well," she muttered, keeping her voice level with great effort. She glanced over her shoulder past Dart and down the walkway. A radiant smile suddenly lit up her face. "Well, you're right. Maybe it's not my place to scold you." She gave a mocking little bow. "So I guess I'll have to leave that job to someone more qualified, then, won't I?"  
  
//Oh crap// I muttered, suddenly catching hold of her meaning. Brushing past Dart, I grabbed control and spun around.  
  
Charle was stalking down the white stone pathway, followed closely by a tall wingly woman dressed in a simple white dress. While the tall woman wore an expression of relief mingled with annoyance, Charle was frowning, an expression that seemed somehow too small for her face. I took a step back as the two women passed by, then hurried down the walkway towards the main buildings. However entertaining it might have been, I didn't really want to be around Charle when she was annoyed. I will attest to the fact that anger is a much more natural emotion than that state of dreamy bliss which she usually floats about in, but for some reason the thought of what that woman might be like annoyed--- The image of Garren bound up in pink ribbons and being fed slowly to her mandrakes jumped to mind.  
  
Still musing over Garren's fate, I paused to glance up at the sky. After its initial blaze of violent colors, it had reverted back to its softer tones once again and was now proceeding with the natural order of the sunrise. If anything in Ulara could be called natural.  
  
/So what now?/  
  
//What do you mean, "What now"?//  
  
/I mean are you going to let me catch some sleep, or are you planning on doing anything?/  
  
Now that he mentioned it- //Tygris. I want to talk to him//  
  
/Fine. Just don't keep me up too long, okay? Sleep in a real bed is something that I'm looking forward to after sleeping on the ground for the past couple of weeks/  
  
//Stop fussing// I murmured, continuing on towards the buildings. //You know as well as I do that you won't be able to sleep in those beds. They're too plush to be comfortable after sleeping on stones//  
  
Dart grumbled, but he knew I was right. He never was able to sleep inside upon his immediate return to Ulara. Even Garren would probably find himself sleeping outside by the fountains at some point or another.  
  
I stopped only long enough in the living quarters to deposit our gear onto an empty bed before continuing on. Out back of the courtyard behind the living quarters there is a place where the platform itself touches up against the stone cliffs which border the western edge of the city. For whatever reason six or seven narrow waterfalls pour over the lip of these cliffs into various rocky pools in the forested areas below. The broadest of these lay a short distance from the courtyard, so close that the spray from the falls dampened the stone wall of the platform, collecting in small water droplets and running down the stones to form puddles against the wall. Somewhere up in behind that waterfall was the cave that Tygris used as his den. Cupping both hands to my mouth, I glared up at the falls.  
  
"TYGRIS! Get out here!"  
  
/You couldn't be any louder, could you?/ Dart grumbled. /Some people were probably trying to sleep/  
  
//Too much sleep is bad for them//  
  
From above came a rumble of protest, followed a few minutes later by an explosion of spray and water droplets as the Bird-Dragon lunged through the screen of water covering the cave's mouth. After flying in a couple of dizzyingly tight circles, he alighted on the wall of the platform in front of us. "Welcome back." He growled sarcastically. "Ever think that some of us may be trying to sleep?"  
  
/Ha/  
  
Ignoring Dart, I watched Tygris impassively. "Too much sleep is bad for you. Now would you give us a lift up?"  
  
Grumbling a reply, the Bird-Dragon dipped his head and wings low enough that I could climb aboard his narrow back without difficulty. When I was settled, Tygris turned around and launched himself into empty space, spreading his wings and angling in a slow dive towards the treetops below. After a moment he began a slow spiral upwards, his wings beating laboriously in the dead air of dawn. It took three or four loops for him to regain his previous altitude, and then he dove quite deliberately through the very center of the waterfall.  
  
When we emerged spluttering and dripping wet on the other side of the curtain I reached forward and smacked the idiot in the side of his head with my fist. "Why the hell did you just do that?" I demanded. Tygris, although he gets along fine with Dart, has a way of getting on my nerves very easily.  
  
"You said to give you a lift. You didn't give me a route." The dragon said smugly as I slid off his back, being very careful to pull out a sizeable number of feathers from his neck as I did so. Satisfied by his yelp of pain and surprise, I pushed past him and headed for the back of the cave, casually tossing my fistful of feathers onto the mossy stones. "The mouth to the cave is only half covered by water, you dolt. I would have thought that you were smart enough to guess the route, but I guess I was wrong." Seeking the ledge where Dart customarily slept while he was in here, I found it and sat down. "So what has been going on here since we left?"  
  
Flopping down onto the ground, Tygris yawned. "Not a whole lot, if you're referring to the cygnet. It's still sealed up safely." Twisting his head around on his long neck, he nuzzled his wings. "There was a birth a couple of months ago, though. Everyone was pretty excited about that."  
  
I nodded. Births are a rare occurrence in Ulara, mostly because the would-be parents have no wish to bring a child into a life where there is no death. It sounds strange to someone who has never experienced the feeling, but according to Dart more than one wingly in Ulara agrees that while there is a reason for their agelessness, it corrodes the soul. Winglies, while their life spans are much longer than that of humans, are still mortal, so even this prolonged life was unnatural to them. "Was it a male or female?"  
  
"A little girl. I think that they called her Asalla or something like that. Anyhow, about all Charle and the other woman have been doing for the last few months is fussing over the mother and the kid."  
  
"Anything odd about her?" I asked absently. The spell of timelessness surrounding Ulara could have strange effects on births I had thought, but so far, not counting Garren's mentality, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. At least, not strictly in Ulara. After Garren had left it had seemed as though his magic had come under faster development once in the outside world. This could have been something or nothing; there was no way to be sure, so I hadn't mentioned it. But this child-  
  
"Only her eyes," Tygris rested his head atop a moss covered stone. "One's the normal pinkish red, but the other's a sort of pretty silver color."  
  
/Silver?/ Dart repeated, surprised. /What does that mean?/  
  
//How should I know?// Aloud I asked, "What did Charle and the other Elders think of it?"  
  
"They were a little worried at first, but I think that they decided that it must be a birthmark of some sort, I guess."  
  
"Hmmm." //Birthmark my ass//  
  
/What do you mean?/  
  
//I'm not sure. Fate's marked her out for something, though//  
  
/Something good or bad, though/ Dart sounded less then enthusiastic about this.  
  
//I have no idea. All we can do is sit back and watch//  
  
/So there's nothing we can do?/  
  
//Nothing//  
  
From somewhere below came the familiar wail of a child crying. Tygris winced at the sound, then raised his head. "Speak of the devil,"  
  
Getting to my feet, I walked swiftly to the mouth of the cave and slipped out onto the ridge of stone that wound its way along the rock face. Partially hidden behind the screen of falling water, I watched as a wingly woman sat on a marble bench next to the fountains, rocking a child back and forth in her arms and crooning softly to her. //Who is that?//  
  
/I think that it might be Yellen, but I'm not sure/ Dart would have frowned, had he been in control at the moment. /I wouldn't have thought that she would have been the mother/ We stood in silence for a few minutes, listening to the wingly's song, a sweet little melody that soared above the sound of the falling water. Pulling back the hood that protected the child's head; she lifted the baby to her breast and let her nurse, not hesitating her song for an instant.  
  
As we watched I couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. Involuntarily, I shivered. It was as though an invisible shadow had fallen across the sun, momentarily blocking out the heat from the sun. The feeling passed quickly, hardly remaining for even a minute, but when my eyes fell on the child again it was as though a weight had settled on the back of my mind. Fate had marked this child; oh yes. I may not know the reason, but I knew one thing.  
  
Nothing good would come of her.  
  
  
  
Shade: **Swishing a blunted fencing saber about her head, giggling madly**  
  
Garren: **lifting a tranquilizer gun to his shoulder** Do you think this will work? She's been into the sugar again.  
  
Dart: If it doesn't we're in for a rough time next chapter.  
  
Shade: PH34R MY M4D 54B3R 5KILLZ! **gets shot in the neck with the dart** Ack!  
  
Actually, don't. "Point and laugh" would be the better option. I get to be in a sword fight and kill someone in our drama production, and they're letting us use proper fencing sabers. Needless to say, I'm on cloud nine. Now, if you don't mind- **tries to perform Demon's Dance and cracks herself upside the head** Blindin'! 


	25. Side Story2

Shade: **Zipping about the room and bouncing off of furniture trying desperately to teleport** I am. the Amazing. Nightcrawler!!!  
  
Nova: **Trying to net Shade with a dogcatcher's noose** Alright! Whose great idea was it to let her see X-2?  
  
Shade: Bwahahahahahaaaa-! **Misjudges her jump and goes flying into a lamp** - ha?  
  
Lately, during my Internet wanderings, I've found a lot of rumors saying that Shonen Jump is going to add Rurouni Kenshin to their lineup. Can anyone verify this? Or at least say they've heard similar? Just want to make sure that I'm not chasing clouds again. **Crosses fingers for luck**  
  
  
  
Side Story 2  
  
Asalla sat at her nightstand, absently running an ivory comb through her floor length hair while she watched her reflection in the polished looking glass in front of her. No matter what she did to herself, she never seemed to be quite happy with the image she saw staring back at her in the mirror. She could change her hair, change her clothes; even change her skin tone with the help of the various powders stored in small containers resting along the edge of the tabletop, but her eyes always remained the same. Nothing she did to her reflection seemed to be able to mask the cold silver pigment in her irises that was so different from the usual rose tones of her race. She examined the mirror once more before setting the comb down carefully on the nightstand. Combing her hair wouldn't make a difference anyhow.  
  
There was a light knock on the door to her room. "Asalla, dear? Are you okay?" Yellen's voice was concerned. "You've been in there for an awfully long time."  
  
Asalla sighed, then raised her voice. "I'm fine, mother. I'm brushing my hair, that's all."  
  
There was a pause. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about anything? I'm always here to listen, you know."  
  
"I told you, I'm fine. Nothing's bothering me." Asalla kept her tone light, but was relieved when she heard her mother's footsteps retreating down the hall. Suppressing a second sigh, she crossed her small room to the window and leaned on the sill, staring out at the sky above. She hated it when her mother fussed over her like that. She was approaching her 268th birthday, for crying out loud. One would think that by the time someone reached her age their mother would have learned that they were capable of handling their own problems, but not Yellen. Asalla knew that her concern came out of her love for her daughter, but still.  
  
Her eyes wandered to where the Moon hung in the sky. It had been a week or more since the Moon's surface had returned from crimson to its normal muted glow, but Ragnarok and Dart had not yet returned from their 'hunt'. This was just as well; Asalla always felt threatened in some way when the Divine Dragoon was nearby. Dart was polite, even friendly with her, but she always felt as though he walked in the shadows of dead souls. Considering the events of his life so far this wasn't surprising, but what really bothered her was the dragon. No matter what t he human was doing, it seemed that the image of the divine dragon was superimposed with his own, watching her always with flat, hate-filled eyes. Ragnarok didn't like her, she could tell that much even without resorting to her gifts with empathy. Not that she would even try it: just the thought of touching the dragon's emotions was enough to make her shrink away. She knew that he didn't like her. She didn't really want to know how much.  
  
Abandoning her vigil by the window, she left her room and wandered outside, picking the walkway that would lead her to the gardens. At this hour of the night most of the walkways were deserted, but Asalla still found that she tread carefully. More and more frequently she found herself retreating to the solitude of the forest gardens below the main levels of Ulara in an effort to escape the hustle of the town above. At least in the gardens it was easier to avoid other people. People meant problems, and problems meant emotions. The last thing she wanted right now was her empathy mucking up her mind with other people's emotions. At least, not while she was still trying to come to grips with her own problems.  
  
Winglies all develop certain specialized abilities by the time they are a hundred or so, such as teleportation or a limited skill with the fire element. In this respect Asalla had progressed quite naturally, if not faster than most. This had never worried her. What did worry her was the fact that her abilities didn't end with teleportation or fireballs; indeed it seemed that she had only begun to scratch the surface. The empathy had begun to develop about a hundred years or so ago, so gradually that at first she'd blamed it on mood swings. It wasn't until three or four months later that she realized that these 'mood swings' coincided with the emotions of her family and friends. And now, just when she was learning to get a handle on empathy, something else unexpected and unwelcome was cropping up.  
  
Reaching the gardens, Asalla let out a sigh of relief when she saw that they were deserted. A light night breeze whispered through the topmost branches of the oak and ash trees, stirring the ghostly pale leaves adorning their limbs into some semblance of life. The moonlight filtered down through the canopy, dappling the forest floor in a mosaic of shadow and silvery light. Seating herself at the base of a large beech tree, Asalla drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Unlike her other gifts this one was quite recent and had manifested itself seemingly overnight. Without meaning to, she saw things that she shouldn't have been able to. Like Dart and Ragnarok. She could see them both at once, while anyone else would only see the black-garbed man leaning against a wall or railing by himself. Other things too. At times it seemed as though she was seeing flashes of his past, without ever leaving the present: countless battles, sorrows, and joys. Once in a while she even found herself picking up on images that could only have come from the divine dragon himself.  
  
It wasn't just them, either. Her mother, Caron, her friends Nova and Garren, even Charle; unpredictably images of their individual pasts would appear before her eyes and then disappear in the space of two heartbeats. She had no control over it, it just happened. But what was the worst was when what she saw couldn't have possibly occurred yet. Dealing with the past was one thing, but as for the future and the fates- that was a different matter entirely.  
  
Why was this happening? According to Charle, the powers of the winglies were supposed to weaken with each passing generation, not grow stronger. What did it mean? Giving up on the swirling mass of questions that swam about in her head, Asalla let her head drop onto her knees and closed her eyes.  
  
She must have dozed off, because when she finally awoke the sky to the east had begun to pale with the oncoming of dawn. Closing her eyes again, she let her head fall back onto her chest and was trying to figure out what had awakened her when she caught the sound of voices on the platform above her. Rousing herself to her feet, Asalla hurried up the winding stone walkway that led back up to the main platforms. As she neared the top, however, she slowed. Charle and Caron were walking hurriedly in the direction of the teleporting platforms, talking quietly.  
  
"Are you sure that he's back already? I would have thought that they'd wander for a while since Garren didn't go with them this time."  
  
"Arkie must be getting tired of all that wandering by now. Maybe he missed us?"  
  
"Some how I doubt that."  
  
As the voices faded away, Asalla paused, biting her lip in indecision. In the end tough, her curiosity got the better of her and she followed the two speakers at a distance. As they neared the teleport station she ducked out of sight behind an extension of the wall to watch.  
  
For several long minutes there was nothing. Then the warp pad began to glow; faintly at first, then growing stronger as the revving sound that accompanied it grew louder. At last a bolt of green burst through the dome of magic that surrounded the city, arcing over the forest below and joining with the humming, glowing pad in a flash of brilliant green light. When the light finally dimmed Dart was left standing in the center of the warp.  
  
"Dart sweetiepie!" However confused Charle may have been about the circumstances of his return, her enthusiasm was genuine. "It's so nice to see you back so early!"  
  
"Stow the cackle, Charle." Dart growled. Asalla didn't need to look at the dragon that seemed to coil around his form to realize that Ragnarok was the one in control. Everything from his mannerisms to his speech changed noticeably when the divine dragon was dominant.  
  
"Hello to you too, Ragnarok." Caron, as always, was undaunted by the dragon's surly attitude. "How did it go?"  
  
There was a muttered string of curses, followed by a spitting sound.  
  
"What was that, Arkie?"  
  
"Remind me never to use stealth again. Next time that blasted child's born in Rogue, I'm going to save us the pain and just blow the whole cursed village straight to Mayfil."  
  
"Oh come now. It couldn't have been that bad." Caron's voice was gently chiding.  
  
"Speak for yourself."  
  
"Where's Dart?"  
  
"Kid's sleeping. It took just about everything he had to get out of there." Ragnarok winced as his left leg buckled noticeably, and he shifted his weight. "The cult doesn't have a foothold on the island, so we decided that it would be easier to use stealth and take care of things quietly."  
  
"And-?"  
  
"And what?"  
  
"And what happened after that?"  
  
More cursing. "Never try to take a kid away from a lady who's trained in the martial arts, catch my drift? If she doesn't get you, her relatives will."  
  
"One over-protective mother gave you trouble? Arkie, I'm surprised."  
  
"Screw one. We had the whole bloody village after us!" There was a pause. "Now would you mind letting us get some rest? His body hasn't had a chance to recuperate as of yet." Without waiting for an answer, Ragnarok started down the walkway, limping on every off step. As he passed Asalla's hiding place he didn't look back. Or at least, not physically. But the insubstantial dragon hovering about the man's frame did, swinging his head about and fixing all seven eyes on her in a malevolent stare. For a long moment they remained that way, eyes locked, before the dragon continued on.  
  
Asalla stayed where she was as Charle and Caron passed without noticing. A scene played itself out unbidden in her mind, repeating endlessly. She was on her knees in the desert that surrounded Ulara, struggling to move against invisible bonds that held her in place. She hunched her shoulders, trying to use her body to protect something, but what? Dart stood, black trench coat flapping about him in the hot wind, sword held back over his head, ready to strike. But even as he lunged forward, bringing the glittering blade down in a sweeping arc, the world around her seemed to dissolve into darkness, accompanied by the chorus of a hundred thousand wailing voices.  
  
Blinking back tears and biting her lip until blood flowed, Asalla pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Bowing her head, she huddled against the walls of the platform.  
  
For some reason, it seemed to take dawn longer to arrive.  
  
  
  
"Gaahhh. once again, sorry for the lateness."  
  
-_-; Anyone else feel like that phrase is becoming a regular part of my vocabulary? 


	26. Nova

Shade: **Dressed in an overly long black robe and brandishing her mallet** I AM THE DEATH OF TICKS!  
  
Garren: **dragging a sack of Terry Pratchett books out of Shade's room** We're going to be YOUR death soon if you don't clean your room! We started cleaning last week, and we've only just managed to clear a path to the bed!  
  
Shade: Good job. Did you find my Galerian colony?  
  
Garren: **trying to picture a colony of PPEC injected psychic lab rats all fitting under Shade's midget sized bed** Oh for the love of Soa-  
  
@_@; Major time warp zone. In two or three chapters, I just jumped from about two hundred and sixty years or so after the game's timeline to about 720 years after. Did you guys honestly expect me to go through every Moon Child? Oi. Repetition. It wears even on MY easily entertained nerves, and I know you guys have higher standards than that. ^-^ And so we stop the time machine in what would be the year of the appearance of the 7th Kiddo. Because I want to get through part one sometime this summer, hopefully.  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
It was raining.  
  
Usually I enjoy the rain, but today all that it served to do was to worsen my already bad mood. There are things in this world that cause a man to feel his age more acutely on some days than others, but I think that waking up and realizing that you can't remember your own birthday just about tops them all off. Ragnarok could remember, but the fact that I had missed my 751st birthday by several months was rather disconcerting. Almost as much as my actual age. And so I'd spent the rest of the morning slouching about Ulara staring gloomily out the carved stone windows at the grey sky.  
  
//You're being stupid about this, you know// Ragnarok told me. //Years don't mean anything//  
  
/Not to you/ I replied sullenly, /But then again, you were meant to live forever. If humans are really lucky, they get to hang around for about seventy or so years before they kick the bucket/  
  
//They? You mean to say that you're not one of 'them'?// Ark actually sounded amused at this observation.  
  
/Look, I'm 751, a dragoon, have a stone for a heart, and share my body with the lord of dragons who, may I add, has been kicking around since the world was created and never really planned on dying in the first place. What do you think?/  
  
//I never thought of it that way// Ark admitted. //That does sort of alienate you, doesn't it?//  
  
/Just a bit/ I turned my eyes back to the downpour outside. A cold wind whipped through the trees below, stirring the leaves into a frenzy. /If the weather's any indication, I'm not the only one who's feeling out of sorts. I wonder what's up with Charle? She never lets the storms get like this unless something's bothering her/  
  
//She's edgy. The year's almost over, and still no sign of the child's birth//  
  
/Damn. She probably wouldn't let us leave until the Moon changes over then, huh?/  
  
//What makes you think that? She might not like it, but about all she'll do is invent a new, slightly less flattering nickname for you. It's not like anything's keeping us here//  
  
/No, not really/ I sighed and left my window. /It might be easier to find the Moon Child that way, actually/  
  
It didn't take long to gather my things. As a rule I had never carried much in the way of equipment aside from my sword, but I usually tried to keep a full stock when it came to items. You can live without a tent, you can live without a blanket, but you can't live with severe blood loss and nothing to heal it. That was one of the first things I had learned when I'd first set out on my hunt for the Black Monster.  
  
Boy, had things come a long way since then. In more ways than one.  
  
When I had finished storing the last of my gear into the large interior pockets of my overcoat, I belted on my sword and stepped onto the warp pad that would take me to the walkways just outside of the quarters. The newer rooms had doors and hallways rather than the portals, which were powered by the amassed power of the winglies themselves in Ulara. The cutback had been in an effort to slow the gradual decline of their power, or so Charle had said. Even though it was never mentioned, I could tell that she had begun to worry about that particular problem. The spell of timelessness around Ulara would only last as long as there were enough winglies to power it. The day would eventually come when the spell would end, and the lives of Ulara's inhabitants would pick up where they left off, unless-  
  
//Forget it// Ragnarok stated flatly as I stepped out into the rain. //They found a source of power once, and if they really want to they can find one again. I'll maintain the spell on the choker if need be, but there's no way that I'm going to try to maintain a whole city//  
  
"Dart?"  
  
I turned. Garren stood on the walkway a short distance behind me, a confused look on his pale features. "Where are you going? The Moon hasn't turned red yet."  
  
"I'm starting to feel a little claustrophobic. Ulara's a nice enough place, but I need to get away for a while. Besides, it doesn't matter where I am. I'll still know when the Moon Child is born." I adjusted a strap on my belt as I spoke, not looking up.  
  
"I know the feeling," Garren looked up at the sky, ignoring the pouring rain. "For once I'd like to wake up on a Tuesday and say, 'Gee, I wonder what the weather's going to be like today' without any degree of sarcasm involved." Shaking the water out of his soaking hair, he narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't happen to be willing to take a couple of travelling companions with you this time, would you?"  
  
"What do you mean 'A couple'?"  
  
Garren shifted uncomfortably. "Wee-ell, I was remembering those years I got to travel around Endiness with you. By the end of it I guess I was glad to get back home again, but its just that I saw so much that I'd only have ever read of in reports if I stayed here. It doesn't even snow here for the love of Soa!" He was warming up to his topic now, entering into what I had mentally dubbed 'rant mode'. "There's so much out there to see and do, and I never even did a hundredth of it! The Elders may not approve, but most of them have never even been outside, or if the have they've forgotten what it's like! They just don't understand."  
  
"That's great," I cut in before he could continue, "But you still haven't told me what you meant by 'a couple'."  
  
"What he means to say," Nova's voice came from behind me, "Is that he does most of his serious thinking and reminiscing out loud."  
  
I half-turned to face her. "Don't tell me that you actually listened to him."  
  
"I have to admit that it sounds, well, intriguing. I've heard stories about the outside world before from my mother, but she hardly remembers anything and the world has changed much in the past eleven thousand years or so. The way Garren tells it though, it's a drug. And unfortunately, I think I'm addicted."  
  
"Drugs are dangerous. Especially this one."  
  
"Too bad. I want to see first hand if it's as good as he says." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked resolute. That girl is very good at looking resolute when she puts her mind to it. Probably because if she doesn't get what she wants the first time, she'll keep dragging it back to the start line until she does. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Garren shrug apologetically.  
  
I sighed. /Ark? I'm at a loss/  
  
//Sometimes I think that you were born lost// Ark responded peevishly. He wasn't happy about the delay and wasn't bothering to hide the fact. //Move over. I'll see what I can do// He pushed me to one side, taking control. "Give me one good reason why I should consider taking even one of you," he growled, glaring at first one wingly then the next. "It's not like we're giving guided tours here. Nova, you'd only be a hindrance. You've never fought before."  
  
"Neither did he," She told him, pointing at Garren, "But you taught him. Anyway, I can teleport three times as far as he can, and with half the effort. And I may not be as good with fireballs, but that's not the only type of combat magic. I can take care of myself."  
  
Ark paused, weighing our options. In his mind the winglies were still just excess baggage, but he knew as well as I did that having Garren along had proven useful before. And with two winglies to teleport us it wouldn't matter where in the world the child was born, especially if Nova could teleport as well as she said she could. In some far corner of his mind I could practically hear the gears grinding as he worked his way through to a conclusion. "Alright. I'm not happy with this, and I'm going against my better judgement, but-" He was cut off as Nova caught him up in an enormous hug, a wide grin splitting her face. Ark pried her off with some difficulty while I snickered to myself.  
  
//Shut up// He growled.  
  
/Heheheh/  
  
"Don't do that again." Glaring at Nova, Ark shifted the hilt of the sword around until it was nearly out of sight. "If you're coming, get a move on. We're leaving right away."  
  
Nova's POV:  
  
For the past several centuries, it had always seemed as though Garren had yet another story about the outside world to tell. I often wondered how fifty years of wandering could supply him with two or three hundred years of stories, but that was beside the point really. Garren tells good stories; he had painted images with words in my mind the way that an artist might use a brush on canvas. Storm lashed islands. The Crystal Palace in Deningrad. Vast mountains that stretched across the breadth of the continent, dark and brooding with jagged peaks hidden in low clouds. He even managed to put a good face on the barrens of Tiberoa. He had, however, neglected to mention the desert that surrounded Ulara much less described it in any great detail. So as you might imagine I was rather disappointed with my first impression of the 'real world'. The portal transported us to the northern edge of the Death Frontier, or so Dart said, but it made no difference to me. No matter where I looked there was only a seemingly endless expanse of red-brown sand with only the occasional finger of rock reaching up to the cloudless sky to save it from utter monotony.  
  
Oh, and the mirages. Who could forget the bloody mirages?  
  
Panting and wiping my brow with my sleeve I trudged over yet another sand dune, doing my best to keep up with Garren. Dart ranged along ahead of us, hand on his sword hilt as he did his best to flush out whatever creatures he thought may be lurking unseen under the shifting sands. "Is there any particular reason we're doing this?" I asked finally. Normally I wouldn't have bothered, but the heat was beginning to get to me.  
  
"Huh?" Garren looked at me, confused. "Why are we doing what?"  
  
"Garren," I said, my voice conveying patience that I knew I didn't feel, "We're winglies. You know as well as I do that we could probably just teleport to the edge of this blasted wasteland. Or if nothing else, fly."  
  
"What an amazing observation."  
  
I smacked him upside the head lightly. "Shut up. So why walk?"  
  
"I don't know. Probably because you never offered to warp us out of here earlier than this." Garren paused and pulled off his boot, trying to shake out an offending pebble that had managed to lodge itself in the toe.  
  
"Wait a minute. WE are going to warp."  
  
"No, you are. Do you remember the last time we both tried to warp at once?" He hopped about wildly on one foot, trying to do his best to get the boot back on without getting his foot sandy. "You landed in the river and I was stuck upside down in a tree for fifteen minutes before I got untangled. Our magics aren't all that compatible." Finally winning his war with his boot, he raised his voice. "Hey Dart! Nova just volunteered to warp us the rest of the way to Mille Seseau-ouch!"  
  
"What part of 'shut up' don't you understand?" I demanded, but it was too late. Dart turned back toward us, sliding his sword back into the clip on the belt. Giving Garren one last smack on the head, I turned to face the dark man.  
  
"Really?" Dart asked, one eyebrow raised. Not making fun, just curious.  
  
"Ummm."  
  
"It would save us a couple days of walking," he added.  
  
I was suddenly aware of how much I was perspiring. It didn't take much to break a sweat in this sort of heat, mind you, but it was enough to remind me that it was late afternoon. When we'd left Ulara the hottest part of the day had already passed. I didn't even want to think about what tomorrow would be like. I shifted uncomfortably under Dart's gaze, and probably Ragnarok's as well. "I guess I could. Maybe not all the way to the border but-"  
  
"Good enough."  
  
It took me some time to ready myself for the jump. Warping from one side of Ulara to the other is one thing; skipping over Soa only knows how many miles of sun baked wasteland is another thing entirely. The problem didn't stem so much from the fact that I was carrying passengers as that I had never been to my destination. All that I had to work with was some rough coordinates and a rather sketchy description of the area Garren had in mind. Basically it's the equivalent of playing darts in the dark, with you as the dart and the world as the board. Eventually though I managed to pull my thoughts and energy into enough of an order that we were able to make the jump.  
  
It was already late evening when we reappeared on the borderlands of Millie Seseau. This was closer to the world that Garren had described to me; the night sky was clear, strewn across with a myriad of stars. The horizon was still tinged a faint purple where the sun had set, slowly fading to deep velvet blue. The Moon shone brightly; it's scarred surface seeming somehow closer and clearer than it had back home. As a result the entire landscape before us was bathed in a faint blue-silver light that gave the whole scene an almost unreal quality. We stood near the bottom of a pass; mountains rose all around us, their slopes barren at first, but becoming forested as they moved farther and farther north. A lake glimmered off in the distance, and somewhere I could hear running water. Turning around, the Death Frontier was no where to be seen. Just a rocky slope covered in what looked like some sort of bracken.  
  
Someone's hand rested on my shoulder. Garren stood just behind me, grinning from ear to ear. "Now do you believe all those stories I told you?"  
  
Try as I might, I couldn't think of a reply.  
  
"What happened to not being able to jump all of the way to the border?" Dart asked. His hair and the bandana kept most of his face hidden in shadow, but I thought that the corner of his mouth twitched, as though he was trying to hold back a smile.  
  
"This is the border?"  
  
"Hardly. I'd say that you overshot it by five or six miles, at least. Once we cross over those mountains, we'll be within a few weeks travel to Furni."  
  
The look on my face must have been something, because Garren burst out laughing. "See? I told you that you wouldn't need my help. If I'd stuck my hand in there, we probably would have landed in the middle of Illisa Bay."  
  
I started to nod, but all at once my energy seemed to desert me. I would have fallen, had not Garren caught me. The warp must have taken more out of me than I had previously thought. Struggling back to my feet, I smiled wanly. "Well, I won't be doing that again anytime soon."  
  
"Doesn't matter." Dart ran a hand through his hair, making it stand almost on end. "We may as well set up camp now anyhow. It's not like we're going to get any farther tonight."  
  
And so began the pattern that would continue for the next several weeks. We would travel through the day, from dawn to dusk, and then set up camp as soon as the last of the sun's rays left the western sky. Winter was coming on fast, so the moment the sun dropped out of sight the temperatures would plunge almost to the freezing mark. After one night curled up shivering next to the fire, I resolved to pick up some warmer clothing the moment it became available. The clothes I had worn in Ulara, although suitable for protection against mildly cool temperatures, were about as effective as gauze in this weather. Garren had also seemed to reach a similar conclusion: When we came across a wandering trader in our third day in the mountains he used a good portion of our gold on clothing that was slightly more climate compatible. The chill didn't vanish entirely in my new outfit, but the hooded cloak and lined boots helped to make it bearable.  
  
When we finally arrived in Furni, it was two weeks after we had set out. According to the texts I had read back in Ulara, Furni was supposed to be a small, quiet coastal town. Weaving through the crowd of people clogging the marketplaces and trying to keep up with Dart, I realized exactly how many things had changed since the last time anyone had bothered updating the manuscripts. Furni was far from sleepy: Large and sprawling along the coastline and even out into the bay itself, Furni was a seaport filled with people of every possible race and nationality, all clamoring to do their business. Hawkers lined the streets, trying to sell their wares to everyone, whether they were interested or not. A minstrel sat on a street corner, strumming an out of tune lute and reciting a fanciful dialogue that I didn't recognize to a rapt audience of children and their only slightly less interested parents. The waterways that ran through the city next to the roads were overflowing with small boats of every description, ranging from clumsy barges that transported merchant's wares to the small, shell shaped boats of the local design.  
  
Ducking under the arm of a fish vendor who had tried to block my way, I managed to grab Dart's shoulder. "Where are we going?" I panted. Behind me Garren moved easily through the crowd, pausing from time to time to look with interest at the hawker's merchandise.  
  
"I'm trying to find an inn." Dart didn't bother turning around. "We'll need a place to stay until our, uh, guest shows up." Scratching the back of his head, he pointed to an area across the waterway. "There should be a few over in that district. We should be able to find one that we can afford, for a while at least."  
  
"What about Garren?" I asked, straining my neck around as I struggled to catch sight of my friend. No good; the crowd had already swallowed him up.  
  
"Let him be. He knows what he's doing. Besides, people like him and they'll talk to him easier than they would to me. By the time he finds us again, he'll be able to tell me just about everything that's been going on in this town for the past few weeks. The last time I checked, the Cult had a fairly large chapter in Furni, and I'd like to know who's in charge right now." Dart slowed until he was walking along beside me, then headed towards a bridge that led across to the district that we were headed for. "It could save us some trouble later on. Oh yeah, and as long as we're here, just refer to me as Tien."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"'Dart' has never been a common name, and when people like me are named for long-dead heroes they tend to draw some attention. It's easier just to avoid that sort of thing all together."  
  
We finally settled on an inn situated along the waterfront; a large, aging building with a peeling red and blue sign out front that proclaimed "The Dragon" in faded scrolling black letters. Pushing open the door, I followed my companion into a low ceilinged smoky common room. It was only half filled; here and there men lounged about at sticky tables, drinking ale and playing dice. A fire burned on its hearth in the far wall, staining the floors and walls with black soot, but supplying the room with a comfortable heat that warded off the outside chill. Dart stepped up to the counter and caught the shoulder of a thin, irritated looking barman who was trying to count out coin. They conversed in low voices for some time before the barman shook his head vehemently and started to turn away. Dart produced a bag of coin and pushed a few pieces of the gold towards him. The man hesitated, apparently torn between the coin on the counter or the chance to get the coin in the bag.  
  
Shifting from foot to foot, I wished silently that Dart would hurry. Several of the men at the tables were watching me out of the corner of their eyes, but one or two were staring at me openly. I recognized the look. Turning away from them hurriedly, I walked over to the bar just as Dart and the barman concluded their business. One hand on my shoulder, Dart steered me towards a narrow staircase in the back of the room. His other hand rested on his swordhilt, making sure that the men drinking at the tables wouldn't miss it.  
  
Our rooms were on the third level of the building, on the top floor. The rooms up here were a sharp contrast to the bar below; small and tidy, the beds were neatly made with white sheets and a plain quilt. A washstand stood in the corner next to a small window, and a woven rag rug was on the floor. Dart muttered some complaints about there not being any locks on the doors, but that couldn't be helped.  
  
The sun had hardly begun to set, but I suddenly found myself longing for bed. Kicking off my shoes and cloak, I crawled under the covers. After weeks of sleeping on the cold, hard ground, even a straw pallet like this was welcome.  
  
Before he ducked out the door, Dart paused. "I wouldn't be too careful of the fact that you're a wingly. If any of those idiots downstairs decide to try to pay you a little visit tonight, set his breeches on fire. That should help him to lose his interest pretty quickly."  
  
"That was to the point." I yawned and pulled the quilt up under my chin. "Don't worry. I can deal with them."  
  
"I'm sure you can," Dart murmured. "Good night, Nova." Leaving quietly, he shut the door behind him.  
  
  
  
**Garren, Nova, and Dart all stand about nervously in Shade's room, trying not to inhale the paint fumes too deeply and keeping a wary eye on the stacks of mess which sway and wobble precariously around them. Shade is under the bed: only her feet can be seen**  
  
Shade: **triumphantly** Found them! **starts to wriggle out backwards, dragging something**  
  
Dart: Found what?  
  
Shade: My Galerians! **sits up and pulls out a garbage bag overflowing with Rion plushies** ^-^  
  
Nova: **snickering**  
  
Shade: **Biffs a Parano plushie at her head** PH34R T|-|3/\/\!!!  
  
(That's it. No more Mega Tokyo for Shade.) -_-; Like that's really going to happen. Oh well. Hope you enjoyed that chapter as much as I struggled with writing it. **retreats to an unoccupied corner to beat her head repeatedly on the wall** 


	27. Burn

.comHey, whaddya know? I'm not dead after all! Although at couple points exams and eventing camp almost did do me in. And to add to the general disgruntled-ness, I'm missing my Meteora CD.  
  
To Fried Chicken: O.O; that officially ranks right up there as one of the strangest questions I've ever been asked, on or off line. After careful consideration, I finally came to this conclusion: In 700-odd years, Dart is bound to have gone into a bar one night and woken up in someone else's bed the next morning. More than once. As for Ragnarok, I'm sure he spent the next couple weeks inventing and re-inventing snide remarks and such.  
  
**Dream sequence**  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
** "So it is agreed then?"  
  
The High Priestess of the Moon Cult in Serdio, a tall black haired woman who went by the name Tulia glared at the speaker. Nero, the High Priest of the Cult in Mille Seseau, returned the look impassively. Umaar, representative of the Tiberoian Cult sat on the edge of his chair, glancing nervously between the two. Nero and Tulia had never gotten along; their struggle for absolute power over all chapters of the cult was stuff of legend. And now Umaar found himself in the middle of yet another of those conflicts as the two bristled at each other from either side of the table.  
  
The forth person seated, King Randal of Mille Seseau, cleared his throat. "I said, is it agreed?"  
  
"No, it is not agreed!" Tulia snapped, ignoring the king's startled look. "Nero's plan is about as secure as a bag of gold sitting in the middle of a Lohan marketplace. The Moon Child has been hidden from the Black Monster hundreds of times in the past, and it has never worked once. No matter what we do, he always knows exactly where and how to strike." She shook her head, sending a ripple through her cascading hair. "By sending prince Damien away to some forsaken part of the content, all we are doing is moving the danger away from ourselves by serving him to the Monster on a silver platter."  
  
"You sound as though you have a better idea." Nero's voice was steady. It was rare that the overweight Priest showed any sign of emotion; if men and woman of the cloth had been allowed to play at cards, Nero's impassive face would have won him his weight in gold.  
  
"I do. If we take up a defensive position within the palace and wait for the Monster to come to us, we could kill him before he even gets anywhere near the prince."  
  
Randal bit his lip, torn between sacrificing his son or his home as he struggled to keep abreast of the situation. In spite of himself, Umaar felt his lip curl with disdain. Randal was a weak King, almost totally incapable of running the country on his own. It was because of this weakness that the Moon Cult was able to all but completely rule Mille Seseau, but Umaar still felt disgusted every time he looked at the man. How this idiot had ever managed to beat out his brother Christopher in the race for the throne never ceased to amaze him.  
  
"And how do you propose to do that? People have tried to stand up to the Black Monster before. Every single one of them has died."  
  
"He may be a Monster," Tulia purred, "but he's not immortal."  
  
"Well he certainly appears to be."  
  
"Appearances are often very different from the reality."  
  
"Oh? And how do you propose to hurt it?" Nero asked, raising one eyebrow. He leaned back in his chair, looking slowly around the room as though he might find the answer to his question somewhere within the dark paneled study.  
  
The study in which they sat was the King's own, although judging from the dust that had gathered upon the text and scrolls resting on the shelves of the bookcases, it was rarely used for that purpose. Randal simply didn't have the brainpower. There were no windows; just four stone walls, three of them adorned with tapestries depicting the deeds of valor from long days past. The high ceiling was lost in shadow, not reached by the light from the fireplace that occupied the far wall. It was to this fireplace that Nero's attention was drawn. Resting atop of the ornately carved mantle was a plain wooden case perhaps the length of a man's arm and twice as thick with a heavy iron latch.  
  
Following his gaze, Tulia smiled thinly. "You're curious, are you not?" Pushing back her chair away from the table, she rose to her feet and straightened her long green robes. "Shall I show you?" Crossing to the fireplace she lifted down the box and set it on the stones of the hearth. Thumbing open the fastenings, she removed the top of the case and set it on the floor next to her. After regarding the contents of the case for a few moments, she delicately selected two long objects, one wrapped in green velvet, the other in white. Returning to the table, she placed the items before her.  
  
"As you know, the researchers in Kazas have studied the magical properties of dragon fire for centuries. It is a fascinating thing, really." As she spoke, Tulia had begun to remove the velvet. "Fascinating, but never practical. A pain to produce and extract, and beyond healing and powering lifts, they were never able to exert enough control to make anything productive of it. Until a few years ago." Pushing the velvet to one side, she reached out and set what appeared to be two glass crossbow bolts filled with light in the center of the table. "These, your Majesty, are what will bring down the Black Monster."**  
  
I groaned into my pillow, but the soft down muffled the sound. Rolling out of bed, I staggered over to the washbasin and splashed some cold water on my face and neck in an effort to wake up fully. No good. The memory of the dream was still there, as clear as the water that sloshed against the sides of the basin.  
  
//Finally// Ark grumbled. //I was starting to wonder if we hadn't missed it already//  
  
/I almost wish we had/  
  
//Stop that. Get dressed, and then wake the others. We have to get a move on//  
  
Reaching for my shirt, I glanced out the window and suppressed another groan. Snow was falling heavily in the darkness outside, clogging the streets and turning the waterways into a mess of slush and ice. Just my luck that winter would decide to arrive all in one rush tonight, of all nights. Pulling my shirt over my head and strapping on my sword belt, I grabbed my jacket and pulled it on. I had had to replace my last one soon after we had arrived in Furni, but this one was much the same as the others; plain serviceable black, maybe a little better made than the ones before.  
  
I finished dressing quickly, grabbed my sword and anything I would need, and then stepped outside into the hallway. Locating Garren's room, I pounded on the door until he opened it, still groggy with sleep. When I was sure he was listening and not just bobbing his head in response to whatever the hell I was saying, I told him to rouse Nova and come downstairs as quickly as possible. That done, I headed down to the common room.  
  
Except for a few late night drinkers, the common room was empty. The smoky tallow candles had burned down to stumps amid small pools of melted wax in their holders, and the fire was little more than a pile of glowing embers on the hearth. Tom the bartender sat on a stool next to the sink, absently wiping a cracked mug as he kept a weary eye on the last few customers. As I reached the bottom of the stairs he jumped, setting the mug down with a bang. "Mr. Tien! What are you doing up at this hour?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"Leaving, I hope. My friends and I have to catch an early ship out of here to Doneau to meet with a friend, and the captain wants us onboard to help prepare for the voyage. He's a little short on crew, I take it."  
  
Tom grunted his approval and went back to wiping his mugs. "If you're after an early breakfast, you're out of luck. The cook doesn't get up for another hour or two yet, and I ain't touching no stove." Tossing his rag down onto the bar, he stumped over to the drowsy customers and began to rouse them with curses and complaints. "C'mon, budge yerselves! Closing time!"  
  
I seated myself on a stool and leaned back against the wall to wait for Garren and Nova. /So what next? Should I ask Nova to warp us right to Deningrad, or would it be better that we rode?/  
  
//Ask her. You don't want to waste any time in weather like this// Ark paused, and I could feel him sifting through my memories of the dream. //What interests me are those crossbow bolts that the Priestess was holding. You shouldn't have woken up so soon. If you'd hung around longer we might have been able to find out what she planned to do with them//  
  
/The green is an unquenchable fire that burns perpetually. The white is a healing flame that will cure just about anything/  
  
//Hmm?//  
  
/When we snuck into Kazas looking for emperor Doel, we ran into some of those researchers that Tulia was talking about. They didn't know much about the flames at all; save for the fact that it was linked to dragons and that one harmed and the other healed/ I shifted my position. /She probably means to shoot us with the green one/  
  
//Really? I hadn't guessed//  
  
/Those bolts looked like they were made of glass, Ark. They'll shatter the moment they meet any sort of resistance, especially if they're shot from a crossbow. Glass shards coupled with fire. And if she decides to distribute them among the temple guards, we could be in for a rough time/  
  
//Then we won't give her the time. We'll warp in and destroy the child before she even gets the chance//  
  
/Unless she'd already distributed them/ I muttered darkly. /I'm not looking forward to this. I don't fancy being lit on fire/  
  
//Neither do I//  
  
Muttering to myself under my breath, I turned on my stool as Nova and Garren appeared at the bottom of the stairs, both of them yawning and blinking in the smoky light. "You two alright?"  
  
"What's-" Nova stifled a huge yawn, "S'cuse me. What's going on?"  
  
I glanced over at Tom, who was arguing with a filthy bar patron who looked particularly reluctant to leave. "I just got the heads up on the Child. He was born to the royal family of Mille Seseau, so it looks as though we're heading to Deningrad." I gave Nova a hard look. "Could you warp us there? The weather's pretty nasty out there right now."  
  
Nova bit her lip, considering. "Probably. The weather might complicate things a bit, but I think that I could manage."  
  
"Wonderful. Oh, and once we're in there, keep an eye out for anyone with a crossbow. Whatever you do, don't allow them to get too close to you. It'll be worth your life if you do." Dropping a handful of coin onto the bar to pay for our stay, I crossed the common room to the dingy glass pained door and wrenched it open, letting in a gust of wind that caused the candles to stutter and the embers in the fire to flare momentarily back into life before dimming again. Turning the collar of my jacket up against the wind, I bowed my head and stepped outside into the blizzard.  
  
Aside from the faint light filtering through the grimy windows of The Dragon, the street outside was dark. Crossing the road to the shadows of a doorway across the street, I waited impatiently while Nova prepared for the jump. I could hardly make her out against the background of swirling snow, hood pulled up and hands tucked into the sleeves of her coat as she muttered quietly to herself. Finally she raised her head, freeing her hands and extending one to me and the other to Garren. "This might take a few tries," she reminded us, "So just try to be patient, okay?"  
  
Garren started to respond, but whatever it was that he had been about to say was drowned out as the hum of magic filled my ears and the world dissolved into a brilliant green light. Somewhere in the back of my mind the hum was slowly turning into an aching reverberation, but I ignored it. Any moment now the light would fall away-  
  
-And it was replaced with darkness. The freezing wind lashed at my body, sending me stumbling backwards into Garren, who overbalanced and was knocked face first into the powdery snow. Raising one hand to shield my eyes against the wind, I saw Nova, her silver hair seemingly incandescent in the darkness. "Nova-?"  
  
"I overshot! Hold on a moment, okay?" She struggled forward, grabbing Garren's hand as he jolted back onto his feet and taking a firm grip on my shoulder. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of the wind howling across the endless expanse of the snowfields. And then once again we were swallowed up in that green light.  
  
//So much for catching them by surprise// Ark grumbled. //At this rate, it will take all night to reach Deningrad//  
  
/Will you relax?/ I almost laughed in spite of myself. Me, telling him to relax? It should have been the other way around. /She'll get us there/  
  
//Yes, but when?//  
  
It took another three tries for Nova to land us inside the relative shelter of the city walls. Exhausted and drenched with sweat she slumped to her knees, drained from the effort of warping back and forth over several hundred miles worth of the continent. "Finally," she gasped, wiping her brow, "I was starting to wonder if I would ever find it." She gave a little huff of breath as Garren wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her to her feet again.  
  
"Hey, at least we made it." Still supporting Nova, Garren glanced over at me, then at the narrow street in which we stood. "Er, this IS Deningrad, isn't it?"  
  
"It sure as hell isn't Furni." I shifted my belt around so that my sword wasn't quite so obvious. "Nova, will you be okay?" When she nodded, I started up the street in the general direction of the palace. "Come on. Garren, you're going to have to warp us in if the doors are closed."  
  
//Soa forbid that should happen. He'd probably land us in the guardhouse//  
  
/True, but I don't think that we need to tell him that/  
  
Oblivious to Ark's remarks Garren nodded and followed, helping Nova along with her arm slung across his shoulders.  
  
The streets were still dark, but the bellies of the clouds on the western horizon had begun to glow with the coming of dawn though it was still a ways off. The snow had abated somewhat; that is to say that we could see farther than three feet in front of us. No lamps burned in the windows of the houses and shops lining the snowy streets. The town slept quietly, tucked in neatly under a chilly white blanket. And over it all towered the crystal palace, rearing up from the core of the city to scrape the clouds with its crystal spires. The heart of Mille Seseau, home of the state and royal family. And now the Moon Child as well.  
  
/Do you think we'll be able to get in unnoticed?/ I asked as we made our way through the slippery cobbled stone streets.  
  
//Get in, yes. Moving around could be a bit more of a challenge//  
  
/Great. Just what we need/ The doors of the palace loomed up out of the swirling snow, a dark, unadorned archway in the near darkness. I didn't expect to see any guards, but I peered into the dark shadows surrounding the door before we approached it, just to be sure. When I was positive that we were alone, I beckoned Garren over.  
  
Garren's POV:  
  
The doors were locked. Well, of course they were locked; my luck always plays that sort of trick on me. Just once I'd like to be able to approach a problem and have the solution handed to me on a silver platter. But really, the odds of that ever happening? Zilch to none. But now that I think about it, if I didn't have to come up with so many solutions, I'd really have no fun with my absurdly long life.  
  
Leaving Nova with Dart, I made a quick jump past the gates and into the entry hall of the palace. I'd been here once before, several hundred years ago with Dart, and I vaguely remembered seeing an open space underneath the huge marble stairwell that led into the interior of the Crystal Palace. My aim for once wasn't too bad; the shadows under the stairs flickered green momentarily as I reappeared, then faded back into darkness. Breathing lightly I stayed in a crouch, the top of my head brushing the underside of the marble steps, waiting to see if anyone had noticed any sign of my arrival, but the hall was silent. Well, almost silent. Someone was pacing back and forth near the doors, their footsteps accompanied by the quiet clink of chain mail. One of the knights, more than likely. Crawling around to the edge of the stairwell, I strained my neck to get a better look.  
  
I bit back an oath. The soldier standing with his back to me wasn't wearing the traditional white cloak or silver mail that was the mark of one of the Knights of Mille Seseau. Instead the armor was a dull black, oddly angular in its construction. A dread knight of the cult. Dart had told me about them, but I'd never actually seen one before. Founded not long after the cult, they had been a sort of personal army at first, open to almost anyone who could pick up a weapon. As time passed the requirements changed; only the elite could join their ranks, which by necessity never numbered more than fifty. If they had brought in the dread nights, then they were planning on fighting this one out. It also meant that they probably didn't have the luxury of a dragoon stone at the moment.  
  
I was so intent on the man watching the door that I almost didn't notice the second dread knight coming down the stairs until it was too late. Ducking back out of sight as the man came down the stairs almost over my head, I waited until he was approaching the other man before risking poking my head out again. Two of them! Luck must really hate me.  
  
"Is everything quiet, Benin?"  
  
The knight by the door jumped, sounding a loud clank with his armor as he did so. When he realized who had spoken, he managed to recover some of his dignity by smashing one mailed gauntlet into his chest. "Yes sir, Lord Claskin, sir!"  
  
Claskin shook his head. "How many times must I tell you, Benin? I'm not your lord any more. I gave that up when we left Serdio. Don't bother with titles."  
  
"Yes sir, Lord Claskin, sir!"  
  
I bit back a snicker. I'd seen parrots before, colorful birds imported from the tropical regions of Endiness. A lady in Lohan had tried to sell me one once; she had trained the birds to speak, but they only knew a few phrases and repeated them endlessly until you got so angry at them that you wanted nothing more than to throw them out a window and be done with it. From the look this Claskin was giving his former manservant, I guessed that he must have similar sentiments.  
  
Sighing, Claskin pulled off his helm and kneaded his brow. He was a tall, well built man of middle years: gray had just begun to touch his temples, but his face remained unlined. A long scar ran up his cheekbone, and his nose was crooked as though it had been broken at sometime or another. I took in that much in a glance. My second glance, however was drawn to the crossbow he was cradling in the crook of his left arm. Benin held one also, but with the ease of someone who knew how to use it well. He was shorter than Claskin, and younger. He seemed almost portly, although it could have just been the fit of the armor.  
  
Jamming the helm back onto his head, Claskin turned as if to leave. AS he did so I stepped out smoothly from behind the stone balustrade, a ball of flame leaping to life in each hand. There wasn't much else for it, now.  
  
For a moment, he just stared, eyes wide and mouth working silently. Only a moment, though. Getting hold of his surprise, he raised his crossbow, opening his mouth to shout a warning as he did so. My first fireball caught him in the chest, burning a hole through his armor. He clamped his mouth shut, staring dumbly at his shaking hand as he raised it to his breastplate. Then without a sound he tumbled over backwards to the flagstones.  
  
Before Claskin had even struck the ground Benin was wheeling about, rage painted on his face as he lifted his weapon to his shoulder. Rage turned into shock as the crossbow suddenly exploded in a shower of sparks and splinters. Before the thick man could move my third fireball struck him in the head, sending the helm bouncing and rolling across the floor. His body simply slumped to the ground, landing beside Claskin's.  
  
Averting my eyes from my work, I hurried to the door. Halfway there, though, I paused and forced myself to grab Claskin's still form and drag him back under the stairs. A moment later, Benin followed. That done, I returned to the doors. It was only the work of a moment to open the heavy iron lock, jamming down the latch with both hands, and the door swung inward.  
  
Dart stumbled in covered in snow, with Nova close behind him. As I jammed the door shut again, I heard him growl into my ear. "What took you so long?"  
  
"I had to deal with something first." I looked pointedly at the charred remains of the crossbow. The floor nearby was smudged slightly with blood, leading in a smeared trail back to the staircase. Locking the door again I turned around, only to face Nova. She stood a few paces away, staring at me. I tried to meet her gaze, then dropped my eyes and shivered. She was looking at me as though she was staring at a stranger. Unconsciously, I reached up to brush the hair out of my eyes, but I stopped when I caught sight of my hand. It was stained with blood. Benin's blood.  
  
I felt my stomach heave, but before I could bring anything up Dart was rushing up the stairs. Nova watched me for a moment longer, then followed. Clamping my teeth together in a grimace, I followed. Part of me wished that I could explain it to her, that I hadn't had a choice and try to make her understand. The other part of me was just glad that she couldn't see what was under the stairs she was running up. As I passed the remains of the crossbows, however, I stopped.  
  
Lying amid the pile of splinters was a crossbow bolt that looked as though it were made of glass. Even more interesting were the emerald flames that danced inside it. This was probably what Dart had been warning us about, but out of curiosity I plucked it up. It was warm to the touch, although not as warm as fire should have been. It shone in the firelight, the barbed glass tip glittering. Kind of pretty, actually. Slipping it into the pocket of the overcoat I'd donned upon leaving the inn, I raced back up the stairs.  
  
At the landing I halted and looked around. The hall was empty, save for a sentry at the very top of the stairs. Thankfully, his back was to me. But where had Dart and Nova gone?  
  
Hands settled on my shoulders; before I could react I had been half- carried, half-dragged into a side chamber. "Don't stand around like that in the open like that, idiot. Do you want to be turned into a flaming pincushion?" Dart released me as Nova quietly shut the door behind us.  
  
Something in the tone alerted me to the change. Rubbing the spot on my shoulders where I was fairly sure the man's grip had left a bruise, I took a step back. "I love you too, Ragnarok. What happened to Dart?"  
  
"He's trying to figure out where they've penned up the Moon Child. There are a fair number of possibilities, so I'm taking over while he narrows it down. He's not one for multitasking. Limited brain power, you understand." He paused a moment, a half-grin hovering on his features, then barked out a laugh. I'm not really sure how the whole speaking bit works between them, but I was fairly sure that Dart had just delivered his retort.  
  
Nova was standing at the door, still looking rather pale. Steeling myself, I walked up to her quietly and almost rested a hand on her shoulder before I thought the better of it. Instead I leaned in close, keeping my voice low. "Are you okay? You look kind of, well-" I trailed off as she turned to glare at me, but the look only lasted a moment.  
  
"I'm fine." She responded, but her voice sounded hollow in my ears.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yes." She bit her lip. "No. What did you do back there?"  
  
Great. "Nothing that I wanted to." I averted my eyes, staring at a knothole in the door a few feet distant. "Nova, it was them or me. Believe me, if there had been another way-" I trailed off again, this time lost for words. I shrugged helplessly.  
  
Nova bit her lip, and for a moment I was afraid she wouldn't accept my answer. Not that I would blame her. Hell, I didn't even accept it. I shook my head. What was wrong with me? That wasn't the first time I had been in a situation like that; why was it bothering me now, of all times?  
  
My musing was cut short as Ragnarok grunted. "Alright, come on. The easiest room to defend is probably the council chambers. There's a narrow hallway leading to it, and a narrow doorway to get through. It's right above the throne room." He glanced at Nova. "Could you warp us in from our current location?"  
  
Nova shook her head. "Not in a building like this. I wouldn't know where to go." She paused. "If we could get into the throne room, or even the room next to it, I could probably jump in without any problems." She ran a hand through her long hair; it was still wet from the melted snow.  
  
"You sure?" Ragnarok frowned. It was strange, being able to tell who was in control of the man's body when. The eyes of the divine dragon were said to have held death, back when he was in his true form. Even now, I could tell how true that had been. Even now, caught behind the eyes of a human, I could all but see the flames burning. "They'll be expecting us to go to the throne room." He muttered, half to himself. "We'll want to avoid that if we can: they'll probably have set up a guard of some sort to distract us." Rubbing at his forehead under the bandana, he was quiet a moment before coming to a conclusion. "Alright. Somewhere around here there should be another doorway. When they rebuilt the palace, they built a network of passages so that the servants could make their way in and out most of the rooms without being seen. We'll take those as far as we can, then see where that leaves us."  
  
The side chamber we were in was small, hardly larger than my own quarters back in Ulara, so it didn't take very long to find the doorway. It had been concealed behind a large floor length tapestry, so that whoever the room's occupants customarily were, they wouldn't have to look at it. Inwardly, I was disgusted. Who had this king thought he was anyhow? If he was so arrogant that he didn't even want to have to look at his own servants, I hoped that he had suffered a short rule. Still musing, I followed Nova through the little door, pulling it firmly shut behind me.  
  
The passages were constructed of rough stone; a sharp contrast to the marble and crystal sheathed walls of the more public parts of the palace. The floor was worn smooth from centuries of use and torches burned low in sconces every ten feet or so along the walls, but the air was heavy with the scent of dust and smoke. Trying not to cough, we made our way through the maze of passages. They seemed to lead everywhere at once; now that the sky was long out of sight, my sense of direction was killed. Ragnarok, at least, seemed to know where we were going. He led us without hesitating, down a set of narrow stairs and through several different branches of passages. Judging from the way that he was muttering to himself, the dragon was doing this on his own; Dart seemed to be as lost as I was.  
  
Twice we stopped at doorways, waiting while Ragnarok checked which room it was. At the first he returned almost immediately, shaking his head, but at the second he slammed the door behind him immediately he entered. There was a yell, the sounds of a scuffle, and then everything was still. Gritting my teeth and clenching my fist around the metal knuckles, I shouldered open the door.  
  
Ragnarok was inside, crouched over the bloody body of one of the fallen, calmly wiping his odd blade on the man's cloak. Two other forms were sprawled nearby, the nearest appearing to have been thrown against the wall. He was crumpled on the rug, his neck bent on an impossible angle. I avoided looking at the other too closely; I had seen Ragnarok fight with that sword before. Dart could be coldhearted when he needed to be, but the dragon far out shadowed him in that respect. There's a saying that the only safe enemy is a dead enemy, and I understand that. But Ragnarok takes it to extremes.  
  
"Them or us." Nova said quietly. She stood at my shoulder, eyes wandering around the room, taking in detail haphazardly. For some reason it didn't seem to bother her as much as it had when she couldn't see the results of the fight. Or maybe because this was the sort of thing that she expected from Ragnarok. Without thinking I fumbled about until I found her hand and gave it a small squeeze, which she returned.  
  
Ragnarok stood, but didn't sheath his sword. A small shiver seemed to run through him, and his stance relaxed as Dart regained control. Glancing around the room, his eyes fell on the crumpled dread knight lying at his feet. Shaking his head he stepped away.  
  
"Where are we?" I asked, keeping my voice low.  
  
"Next to the throne room." Dart's eyes wandered up to the ceiling. "They should be right up there." Without hesitation, he reached out and gently took hold of Nova's wrist. "Okay?" When she finally nodded, he shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword. "Be ready for anything. By now, they know we're coming."  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
Nova swallowed and closed her eyes. The usual throbbing in my head was nothing more than a sting this time, just as the green light was nothing more than a flash. One moment were were standing in the side chamber, the next we were standing in the council chamber.  
  
The council chamber was crowded with a score or more dread knights, half milling about near the entrance, the rest standing rigidly at attention in a line at the far end. In the gaps between them I could see the priests from the dream and a thin weedy man with a weak chin who I remembered as King Randal. He stood beside his wife, a plump woman who might have been pretty were it not for the look of stark terror on her face. In her arms she cradled a red-wrapped bundle.  
  
In the startled silence that greeted our appearance, I let go of Nova's shoulder and bolted for the line of knights guarding the Moon Child, sword held low. I had almost reached them when Nova's voice broke the silence.  
  
"DUCK!"  
  
Without pause I hurled myself forward into a roll as the snap of bowstrings and scream of crossbow bolts filled the air. Most of them passed harmlessly overhead; a couple struck the ground next to me -exploding in small bursts of glass and green flame- but by the time I was back on my feet the soldiers had discarded the crossbows and drawn their swords, leaping as one to meet me.  
  
Parrying a thrust, I smashed one of the dread knights in the face with my elbow even as a slash from one of his companions opened a shallow cut in my side that ran from shoulder blade to hip. Outnumbered, I let myself be pushed back a few steps before dropping to one knee and slashing at ankle height. As one of the knights jumped to avoid the blade I completed the maneuver, reversing the slash and bringing it up on an angle at neck height. The knight fell, and two more leapt to take his place even as another gash was opened on my thigh. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the green flame from the crossbow bolts licking hungrily at wall hangings and curtains.  
  
It was madness. I lost myself in the fight, only dimly aware of the blood streaming down my face from a gash above my right eye. I moved automatically, countering, slashing, and thrusting, as I tried to cut my way through to where the priests stood watching calmly from the far end of the chamber. Twice I slipped on the blood slick floor and almost went down, but each time I managed to recover somehow. Absently I realized that was wielding my sword with only one hand; my left arm hung uselessly at my side, sharp stabbing pains running through it from a break in the bone. Ark was shouting something; almost without realizing it I activated my spirit. Startled, the knights fell back a step or two as I was momentarily engulfed in the familiar grayish-silver light. Slowly, as though rising to the surface from the depths of a lake, I became aware of my own thoughts again. And the fact that Ark was yelling himself hoarse.  
  
//What the hell do you think you were doing!?//  
  
/I couldn't help it/ Taking advantage of the enemy's confusion I slashed out with my new blade, felling two with one stroke. Five on one, now. But at least I was back in control. /besides, you've taken on this many before/  
  
//Not dread knights!// The fire had spread from the curtains to the walls; sulfur smelling smoke was slowly filling the chamber.  
  
/If you were so upset, why didn't you take control?/ My left arm was still weak, but I was at least able to use the massive cannon to block. I turned aside another thrust and returned with one of my own. Four to go.  
  
//I couldn't! Do you know how hard it is to shove you aside when you're that intent on fighting? You're almost as bad as me!// Ark snapped. //And watch your back; one of those tapestries is on fire//  
  
/What's that supposed to mean? Everything is on fire!/ There was a sound like a muffled explosion and the dread knight nearest to me went down with a scream, and a burst of orange flame. Three more fireballs followed in quick succession, and then the room was silent.  
  
Nova and Garren were both in the air above me, faces and clothes streaked with blood and sweat, but still in better condition than I. It appeared that wingly magic was much more effective than my sword when it came to the dread knights. "You okay?" Nova drifted down lower. Garren stayed up near the roof, glaring down at the priests. The high vaulted roof itself had caught fire; bits of burning plaster rained down on us. The only thing, in fact that didn't seem to be burning was the stone floor.  
  
Someone was laughing quietly. Dropping my eyes, I realized that it was the dark haired priestess from the dream. Tulia had been her name. She stood at the forefront of the little group huddling at the far end of the hall -as far as they could be from us while staying clear of the flaming walls- holding a crossbow loaded with the familiar green bolt. For a minute the only sounds in the hall were the sound of her laughter coupled with the crackling of the flames.  
  
She cut off laughing suddenly, her face intent. "Well, I must say, I'm impressed. But this was hardly what I'd expected for the legendary Black Monster. Two winglies, and unless I miss my guess, a dragoon? Hardly the twelve foot fire breathing fiend I was led to believe I would be facing." Idly, she lifted the crossbow and aimed it at my face. "Too bad that getting rid of you will be this easy."  
  
She tensed, and I flinched. But at the last moment she re-adjusted her aim, swinging the crossbow up towards the ceiling and pulling the trigger in one movement.  
  
Garren's scream echoed through the flaming chamber. As the scream faded he wavered, then felt out of the air to the stones below with a bone- jarring thud. And yet amazingly he still moved, trying to escape the green fire the was spreading over his chest and back. Laying on the floor with his back arched, tears streamed openly down his face as he tried to escape the pain.  
  
/Ark-!/ I started, but Nova was quicker. Landing pale-faced beside her friend, she placed both her hands on his chest, ignoring the flames. Without warning pain exploded in the back of my head; for a moment the world reeled and stars swam before my vision before then it faded. As things seeped back into focus, I looked over to where Nova crouched over Garren. The flames had faded and he lay still, chest rising and falling slowly even though he seemed to be unconscious. Dark burns were visible through the charred remainder of his shirt.  
  
Twenty feet away, Tulia arched one dark eyebrow. "Well," she murmured, "That was quite-" she trailed off as I leveled the cannon with her. See how she liked it, for a change.  
  
Ignoring the weapon, she actually offered a small, predatory smile at me. "Go on. Kill us all. It won't change anything."  
  
//She's bluffing// Ark muttered, and I repeated his comment.  
  
Tulia laughed again, this time drawing uneasy looks from her companions behind her. "Do you think so? Why don't you allow me to explain." She pointed up to the burning ceiling. "See that? Any moment now that roof will fall, crushing us all." Her smile became twisted. "You can stay, kill us, and burn. Or you can escape, and allow us freedom also. It doesn't matter to me. Even if the Child dies, it will all be worth it to see you dead. And do you know why? Because then you won't be around 108 years in the future when the next Child is born."  
  
/Damn it/ I glared at her, but kept my comments inside my head.  
  
She laughed again. "You see Nero? I told you we could trap him."  
  
The poker faced priest was sweating visibly. "Yes, but look at the mess you've landed us in! You never said anything about sacrificing our lives!  
  
Tulia waved it aside as though the loss of their lives was a small matter. I guess that in her eyes it really was. "I didn't think I had to. Any follower of the Moon Child should be willing to throw down their lives for their god. Why should we be any different?" Her eyes narrowed. "Unless your faith isn't as strong as we were lead to believe, Nero."  
  
Nero swallowed, eyeing the cannon and trying to avoid looking directly at my face. "My faith is every bit as strong as it has ever been, Tulia." He started to say more, but was cut off with a yelp when a chunk of burning wood fell from the ceiling and smacked him across the back of the head. The woman holding the child jumped back quickly, staring at the burning brand as though it were a live snake.  
  
More chunks of wood and plaster were falling now, dropping to the stones trailing flames or sparks. Craning my neck about to look upward, a movement made difficult by the high neck guard of the armor, I blinked and flared my wings agitatedly. The fire had eaten away almost all of the support of the ceiling; it would be coming down at any moment. Wonderful. Bloody wonderful. Stepping over to where Nova crouched next to Garren, I scooped him up as best I could into the crook of one massively armored arm. Up close, he looked even worse. In addition to the burns inflicted by the fire, he still had the wounds from the battle before. His head flopped limply back and forth on his neck, strands of charred hair falling across his ash streaked face. But he was still breathing. Nova pulled herself up almost onto my shoulder; idly, I made a note to thank Ark for such a massive dragoon armor.  
  
If Tulia had noticed the state of the ceiling, she gave no sign. Smiling fixedly, she stared at the muzzle of the cannon. "Why don't you kill us? Surely you could with that thing."  
  
"Give me one reason why I should not." I growled. It was the truth. She sided with the Moon Child, had lured us into this deathtrap, and had nearly killed my friend with one of those accursed bolts. "Just one reason."  
  
Whether or not she had a reason, I never discovered. With a groan the ceiling bellied inwards, hanging precariously for a moment before breaking apart, timbers half again as thick around as my waist mixed with shards and chunks of crystal from the roof above us. All in one deadly rain, pelting downwards to smash through the stones below. And us as well.  
  
Reflexes are a funny thin. Even while the mind is paralyzed with terror, the body can react without direct instruction, falling back on the instinct to live. I wasn't even aware of myself raising the cannon and firing until the beam of silver-blue light was blasting a path clear through the falling rubble, and by then I was following close on its tail.  
  
Bursting free of the roof of the crystal palace, we emerged into the faint light of dawn. The blizzard had blown off, leaving behind a fresh coat of snow stretching as far as the eye could see, glowing gold on the horizon where the sun had begun its slow accent into the purple-grey sky. My eyes were not on the glory of the new dawn, however. Breaking off my flight to hover about a hundred or so feet above the glittering roof of the crystal palace, I watched detachedly as what remained of the ceiling over the chamber fell in. Below the blue crystal that sheathed the rest of the roof I could see emerald flames spreading through the wooden beams below. In minutes the fire would have spread through the rest of the palace, engulfing everything. If Ragnarok had broken the palace all those years ago in his true body, the fight we had pitched in the Council Chambers had destroyed it. By evening, nothing would remain of the ancient structure save the rubble and the foundation of the lower floors.  
  
//Finish it// For once Ark's 'voice' held none of its usual commanding tone. I guessed that finally he was as tired as I was.  
  
Raising the cannon, I fired off two bolts of energy into the gaping hole above what remained of the council chambers. One would have been enough. Two was overkill. Even so, it seemed necessary. The sound of the explosion when they struck probably started off avalanches in the mountains for fifty miles in every direction, but by then we were racing away from the ruined palace as fast as my six wings could carry us, blasting across the snowy fields and hills towards Ulara. Nova had managed to pull herself down next to Garren; she had taken off what remained of her coat and was trying to use it to protect him from the cutting wind. The blood from her wounds had all but dried up; out of all of us, she was still in the best health. My back burned from the untended wounds, and even braced in the cannon I could feel jolts of pain shooting up and down my arm. Garren wasn't the only one who needed medical attention. Doing my best to shove what I had just done out of my mind, I fixed my thoughts on reaching Ulara.  
  
"It's the living that matters, not the dead." The words were whipped away in the wind as soon as I uttered them, but it didn't matter. Garren and Nova were the living, and Garren's life, at least, depended on getting him to Ulara as quickly as possible.  
  
  
  
Shade: **Slumps in exhaustion** There. I did it. I went through six strawberries and two liters of Pepsi, but I did it. I'm fairly sure that I would recognize Immortal by Adema and Torn Apart by Stabbing Westward even if they were played backwards, I listened to them so many times while writing the last part. But Ha! Writer's block gone! Thank you for your patience. For those of you who are wondering, I'm done with the (almost) pointless repetition of hunting Moon Kids. They piss me off almost as much as they do Ragnarok, but hey, they gave me a plot while I maneuvered everything in place I needed. Maybe two more chapters, then I can close off part one.  
  
Garren: **Throws a shoe at her** Not yet! Make me get better first! I'm not spending the rest of my life as a vegetable!  
  
Shade: Fine. **Stumbles back off toward her laptop, but smacks into a wall and collapses to the floor** ehhh. right after sleepysleepysleep. 


	28. Side Story3

Yes, only part one! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA! You still have to put up with a completely different development of plot if you ever want to find out how it ends! BWA! **Gets hit in the head with a purple banana** OW! **Glares**  
  
Garren: **lying in a bed, covered in bandages and waving a banana** I'm not getting any less vegetated with you just standing ranting here!  
  
Dart: **glancing down at a list** Oh no, questions to answer.  
  
About the white fire, that was a mistake on my part. It wasn't supposed to be in the final version of the story. I thought that I had deleted all mention of the white arrows from the story, but I had some trouble uploading and it interfered with the rewritten bit. -_- It originally did have a role in the chapter, but it disappeared after three different re- written versions. Ignore it. It does not ex-is-t.^^ I did like the example of counter-productiveness, though.  
  
Even though Dart has the dragoon spirit for the heart, he can still bleed. How does that work? Well, technically Dart is still human, and human bodies need blood to function properly. So I'm putting the whole thing on Ragnarok; he did it. Whatever the reason is, it has to do with something that Ark did to Dart's body in the moment he switched his heart for a stone. **pauses to read what she's written so far** There, I'd say that should satisfy any of you who were looking for a vague answer. May I also add that in an action story where the main character doesn't bleed would lose something? **blinks** No, the colors of the dragoon stones and the colors of the cultist's robes wasn't intentional. I never even noticed. It is kind of funny though, huh?  
  
Hmm, I guess the names of some of the towns may have changed over the years, but not the larger ones (Real life Ex. Rome, London, and other large cities have kept their names for hundreds of years). Some of them may have changed, but I'm going to keep them the same for the sake of my sanity. I'd get lost. @_@ Good idea, though.  
  
  
  
Side Story #3  
  
Mathis stood quietly, leaning on this sill of his window. He still was not used to the enchanted sky over Ulara. It was not the magic itself that bothered him; as a wingly, he was hardly a stranger to magic and enchantments and such. No, what bothered him was the sheer power of the magical flow. Over the past few centuries, the magic of the winglies had been in decline: thousands of years ago they had been able to create such wonders with their power, the likes of which the current world had and probably never would see the equal of. Now the most that anyone could do was create fire and fly. At least, that had all he had thought that anyone could do. But then he had been sent to Ulara.  
  
Mathis had been born in a small wingly colony on a large island in what the humans called Midlake, although to the winglies who made their home there it was still known by the old name, Tys'ki. There were colonies just like it scattered across the continent, but Midlake had been the largest after the Forest. But until very recently, they had all been ignorant of the existence of Ulara. The idea that one of the towns from before the Dragon Campaign might have survived all of these thousands of years was absurd. Yet here he was, sent as an ambassador along with his half brother Gidan, standing at the window of the room he had been given staring up at the unnatural sky.  
  
There was a whine from the warp pad at the far end of the room, and Mathis half-turned. That would probably be Caron. The ageless seeming wingly woman had been Ulara's first ambassador to Midlake, and since returning with he and his brother in tow she had been their guide to the ancient city. So far Mathis had only really ever left his quarters to speak with Charle, the over-energetic leader of Ulara. He had almost dismissed her out of hand as an immature woman with who was little more than a figurehead- until, that is, he had found out that she was Melbu Frahma's older sister. No, that woman was a force to be reckoned with, no matter what face she may put on for the world.  
  
The air shimmered green momentarily above the warp pad, then condensed into a pretty young woman with floor length silver hair. Despite the fact that she most likely carried more years on her shoulders than Mathis and his brother together, her face was that of an eighteen year old girl and her eyes- Mathis blinked. Silver eyes? No, that couldn't be right. It must be the work of some sort of cosmetic or another. Well, cosmetics or not she was very pretty, if not beautiful. Even the startling silver of her eyes seemed more of an exotic touch rather than the defect he supposed it could be considered. She wore similar dress to others he had seen in Ulara; a black silk dress with leaves worked in silver around the low neckline and sleeves. The silk clung to her slightly when she moved, whispering against her skin.  
  
Oblivious of his admiring glances, the woman bobbed a quick curtsy before straightening again and giving her head a slight shake, rearranging the way that her hair spilled over her shoulders. "Mathis Sear? Caron sends her apologies, but her presence was required in the healing wards. I will be your guide for this afternoon, if it pleases you."  
  
"I'm sure it will," Mathis answered, raking his fingers through his short-cropped hair unconsciously. It was just long enough that it should lay flat own its own, yet whenever he forgot to dampen it down it would almost always stand on end. He was on the short side for a wingly; the woman before him actually stood several inches taller than he. Almost everyone did, and the fact rankled at him constantly. Squaring his shoulders he stood a little straighter. "And you are?"  
  
"Asalla." She waited until Mathis joined her on the warp platform. "Will your brother be joining us?"  
  
"He's probably still sleeping," Mathis shrugged. "He was up late last night, socializing in that tavern." He put particular emphasis on the word socializing. That was the partial truth, at least. Gidan had spent a good portion of the night in the tavern, although not socializing in the manner that he hoped his words implicated. In truth, he just didn't want his brother joining them.  
  
If Asalla had divined something from his words, she gave no indication. Instead the teleporter activated with a quiet hum, and the world around them dissolved in a flash of green light, then reappeared just as quickly in the form of the walkway outside. Without waiting for his direction, Asalla started off towards the town's center. "Where would you like to go first? Charle has directed that you see whatever you wish, and I am to answer whatever reasonable questions you ask."  
  
"Reasonable?" Mathis raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Exactly what I said." Asalla didn't break stride. "Now, how about the merchants workshops?"  
  
The rest of the afternoon was spent touring the various workshops and studies Ulara offered. Mathis had been sent as an ambassador to see exactly how much Ulara offered in terms of knowledge; most of what the winglies knew of the times before the Dragon Campaign was piecemeal at best. In this respect, Mathis knew that the elders in Midlake would be more than satisfied with what was offered. Lifetimes could be spent studying in Ulara, and a person would still have more to learn. Of course, life in the enchanted city was indefinite, so the truly dedicated would have all the time in the world to study. The world would move on without them, certainly, but it was the concept that would appeal to the elders, not the reality. In spite of her warning, Asalla answered almost every question asked of her. She was rather vague when Mathis asked her what they had in terms of technology and weapons from before the Dragon Campaign, but that was to be expected.  
  
When Mathis and his guide finally left the library that evening, dusk had long since settled in, the sky still tinged faintly purple where the sun had set. Pausing a moment to enjoy the breeze that stirred the roses in their bed nearby, Mathis watched Asalla out of the corner of his eye. She really was beautiful, no doubting that. Too bad that she'd probably never be allowed to leave Ulara; he had learned that much about the taboos that governed the people of the city. He stared at the roses a moment, not really seeing. Maybe he could work things the other way around; he was the ambassador, after all. Nothing said that he had to run back and forth between colonies constantly. He could do his job just as well from Ulara, using Gidan to carry messages to the elders in Midlake. That idea had some definite possibilities.  
  
He broke out of his daze abruptly when he realized that Asalla had started off down one of the walkways without him. Catching up, he slowed his pace to match hers. "Where are we going now?"  
  
"Caron asked me to bring you to her when we had completed our rounds. I have friends in the healing ward at the moment that I wish to visit as well." Asalla glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Her eyes widened slightly, and then she snapped them back to the front, as though having seen something startling. When Mathis inquired what was bothering her, though, she remained silent.  
  
The healing ward was a long, low building in the lower levels of the city, its foundations almost brushing the tops of the trees in the forest garden below. Constructed of the same pristine white stone as the rest of Ulara, the ward was both comfortably warm and airy at the same time. Divided into three main rooms, Asalla led Mathis to the large, breezy room in the back. Seven oddly shaped beds lined the walls; two of them showing signs of use but at the moment only one of them was occupied. A man sat up in the bed, the left part of his neck and his entire torso wrapped neatly in bandages. A woman was seated on a small stool nearby, talking quietly to her friend while she kept her eyes on the needlework in her hands, the bright needle in her fingers flashing in the lamplight. The third occupant of the room was a human, Mathis realized with a start. He was seated on the broad sill of an open window above the unmade bed, staring down at the forest below. Like the first man, much of his body was wrapped in bandages and his left arm was caught up in a sling.  
  
"How are you feeling, Garren? Nova?"  
  
The man on the bed gave a noncommittal grunt and leaned back against the wall. "Better than yesterday, hopefully worse than tomorrow. What else can I hope for, aside from a miraculous spontaneous recovery, and for the sky to open up and rain women and beer while I'm at it? Both have about the same chance of happening."  
  
Without looking up, the woman whom Mathis assumed was Nova reached out and smacked Garren across the back of the head. "Garren, be decent, would you? There's no need for you to vent your spleen on everyone."  
  
Garren glared at her, rubbing his smarting head. "Easy for you to say. You haven't been confined to a bed for the past week! Why couldn't we have just used healing potions? They're faster."  
  
"I was smart enough not to let myself get shot by that madwoman with the crossbow. And you know that if we used potions, you wouldn't heal as well."  
  
Mathis raised an eyebrow. "What madwoman with a crossbow?" He asked, speaking up for the first time since he had entered the room.  
  
Nova's eyes jerked up from her embroidery long enough to him in before returning to her work. "Who are you? I've seen you and another guy closeted up with Charle over the last few days, but no one's been able to tell me who you are."  
  
Mathis opened his mouth to reply, but Asalla cut in before he could speak. "He's an ambassador from the wingly colony in Midlake. I've been showing him around this afternoon."  
  
"An ambassador, huh? Well, nice to meet you. I'm Nova, and the disgruntled mummy on the bed is Garren. The quiet one on the windowsill is Dart." Nova set her embroidery aside. "They're all right, when they aren't frothing at the mouth looking for fights."  
  
"Nova-!" Garren's voice was pained.  
  
"So what did you mean about a madwoman with a crossbow?" Mathis asked again.  
  
"Well," Nova started, but then caught a sharp look from Asalla. "Nothing really. I was just kidding." Her voice was steady, but Mathis noticed that she didn't quite meet his gaze. "They had a bit of a row, and it got out of hand."  
  
"And they burned themselves that badly?"  
  
"Dart may be a human, but he's a bigger pyromaniac than any wingly in Ulara." Asalla muttered, but she avoided looking at the quiet man. If he had noticed, or even cared, Dart gave no sign. He shifted slightly, settling deeper into his window seat, and continued staring out the window.  
  
Mathis smiled and nodded as though he was satisfied with the answer, but he eyed the two men doubtfully. Garren had said that he had been in the ward for a week already; normal burns wouldn't have kept him confined for that long, especially if the healers had treated them. No, there was definitely something that they were covering up. A blind fool would be able to tell that much. But what? And why?  
  
His thoughts were cut short by Caron's arrival. Tall and more handsome than pretty, the gatekeeper was a formidable figure standing framed in the doorway, arms akimbo. "Dart! What have I told you about sitting in that window? Get back into your bed this instant, or I'll add another week to your bed time!" Without waiting to see if Dart followed her orders she was already rounding on Garren. "And you! How many times do I have to tell you that you're to be laying down, not sitting up! And cover yourself up, or you'll catch cold! Nova, aren't you supposed to be in your quarters taking your medicine? Honestly, the moment I leave you three alone for even a minute-" She continued on in this vein for quite some time, before finally lecturing herself out. Rearranging her shawl on her shoulders, she turned to Mathis. "Did you see enough today? If not, I will be able to show you around tomorrow."  
  
"I appreciate the offer." Mathis's eyes slid back to the slim form seated next to the sickbed. "However, would you mind horribly if I borrowed Asalla again? She's an excellent guide, and I enjoyed her company today."  
  
Caron's eyebrows rose, but she nodded. "Of course. That is, of course, if you don't mind, Asalla?"  
  
Asalla blushed, but offered Mathis a slight half-smile. "I-it would be my pleasure."  
  
Mathis gave a slight bow. "Until tomorrow, then." Brushing past Caron, he left the ward with the intent of returning to his quarters. Tonight, though, he found himself wandering down the paths towards the courtyard. Seating himself on one of the marble benches next to the fountains, he stared up at the starry sky overhead. The Moon that Never Sets was bright tonight, shining with more than its usual brilliance, although whether or not that was a side effect of the artificial atmosphere around Ulara, he had no idea. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad a place to live; it was much more comfortable than Midlake, that was for sure. And Asalla.Well, she gave the idea some extra weight.  
  
The hour was late when Mathis finally made his decision and returned to his quarters. The courtyard in which he had left was still except for the ever-present sound of water spilling into the fountains and a light wind whispering through the trees in the forest below. Ripples crossed the surface of the water, setting the Moon's reflection to dancing. The body of the virage embryo, waiting to be rejoined with its soul. 


	29. Ayrel

Dart's POV:  
  
I brought the sword up hard and fast, changing the angle of my strike at the last moment so that it only shaved off a sliver of the stump. Whirling about I dropped to one knee and sliced the blade across at waist height, then sprung back up into a defensive stance. I held it for a moment, and then grounded the tip of my sword in the stump, signifying the end of the exercise.  
  
//Very nice// Ragnarok murmured //But you still haven't told me why you persist in these pointless exercises every morning//  
  
/My sword isn't going to be any use to us if we get out there and run into a cultist who can split me down the middle in a duel/ I grabbed my shirt from where it hung off of a low tree branch and pulled it roughly over my head. Even though the sun had not yet risen fully over the horizon, my back and chest were damp with the effort of the exercise.  
  
//Dart, you've had more occasions to use a sword than almost anyone else has on the planet. I don't think you're going to run into any troubles soon//  
  
/Skill comes with practice, not age/ I pulled my blade from the stump and returned it to its sheath. /If the reverse were true, you probably would have been crowned king of Endiness several thousand years ago/  
  
//There's a thought//  
  
/Don't get any ideas, please/ I began to make my way through the forest back towards the ramp that led into the upper levels of Ulara. The first rays of sunlight were beginning to filter down through the canopy, spots of gold illuminating hummocks of moss and mottling the dark trunks of the oak trees looming overhead. Charle had been letting the temperatures border on hot lately; as a result the scent of warm loam was sifting through the moss covered ground to hang faintly in the air. It wasn't hot out yet, but even in the cool shade of the forest the slowly heating air hinted at the heat that would follow. I walked in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet. Goddess knew things were going to get louder later on.  
  
It had been 108 years. Soa, but I was sick of that number. Normally all that this would mean was that I would have to start watching my dreams and sharpening my sword while the other residents of Ulara went about their everyday lives in peace. But now, with the year hardly started, the entire town was on edge. And in a roundabout way, all because of that idiot Mathis who had come to stay in Ulara only a few days after Garren, Nova, and I had returned from Deningrad. I didn't like Mathis very much. He was polite enough in a conversation, but for some reason I always had the feeling that the moment my back was turned on him again he watching me, weighing and measuring me as an opponent. I'm not sure what he thought of me in that respect but whatever it was, it was enough to make him remain polite to my face. On the other hand, he and Garren would be at each other's throats if we left them alone together for more than five minutes in one room.  
  
//We can't trust him// Ark growled. //He tries to meddle too much for his own good//  
  
/He's an ambassador. He's supposed to meddle/ I reminded him, but I agreed. Ever since he had discovered that the real reason that Tygris was in Ulara was to guard the cygnet, he had spent a fair amount of his time trying to convince Charle that a dragon wasn't enough to protect the cygnet. Charle only listened with half an ear, I was sure, but Mathis wasn't giving up. We had managed to keep the reason for my presence here a secret, but just bearly. The fact that you're not only harboring that Black Monster in your city, but also are the reason that he still exists isn't really the sort of thing that you want to throw around casually. With any luck, he had it in his head that I was another ambassador or something.  
  
//Why couldn't he have waited another year or two to get her with child?// Ark exploded as we reached the ramp that wound into the upper levels of the city. //He's got the whole city on edge because of this!//  
  
/It's a little late to do anything about it now, Ark/  
  
Ark snorted. //At least if it turns out that she does give birth to the Moon Child, we won't have to run around searching for it//  
  
/That's rather contemptible, isn't it?/  
  
//I don't really care. Anyone who looks at me with contempt is a dead man anyhow// Ragnarok reminded me dryly.  
  
/You know what I mean/ Reaching the top of the ramp, I glanced around. Not surprisingly, the walkways were empty. Most everyone was probably holed up in their quarters, waiting to see what the day would bring. I would be too, if I weren't so tightly wound that I half expected a spring to pop somewhere. Choosing a path, I headed toward the courtyards in the back of the living quarters. Garren would probably be there already, since Nova was in helping in the wards.  
  
Sure enough, when I arrived on the platform Garren was lying half-asleep on a bench next to a fountain. Tygris was also there, coiled around the marble base of another fountain, the tip of his tail trailing in the clear water. The dragon half lifted his head as I approached, then let it drop back onto the stones. "Dart. I was wondering where you were."  
  
"Just around. I needed a bit of exercise." Seating myself on the edge of the bench, I cuffed Garren in the side of the head. "Wake up, sloth. Is Nova still gone?"  
  
"Since about four in the morning," Garren yawned. "Jeez, I'm tired."  
  
"You were born tired. Move over." I shoved him farther down the bench so that I could sit more comfortably. "What do you think about the whole thing?"  
  
"Wha? Oh. Other than the fact that Mathis is an asshole, the Moon hasn't changed colour yet. I'd say that's a fair indicator of how we stand at the moment." Garren leaned back, scratching his head with one hand. "If it suddenly starts changing colors then I'd worry, but until then just relax. Did I mention Mathis is an asshole? A really, really big, swollen asshole?"  
  
I winced. "You don't have to be so graphic. What'd he do now?"  
  
Garren spat bitterly in the fountain. "He got me banned from the tavern for the rest of the month for 'disorderly conduct'. I don't believe it! He was the one that started the fight in the first place." He scowled at his reflection. "And he got off without a hitch. That idiot Madrid is playing favorites, if you ask me." Madrid was the hefty wingly who owned the tavern. "He just picked me up and tossed me out like I was a rag doll! And Mathis just sat and laughed his ass off. Or tried, anyway. His nose was bleeding pretty bad." He rubbed his chin reflectively. "I hope I broke it."  
  
"You humans are strange," Tygris said without bothering to open his eyes. "When you start a fight with someone, you aren't supposed to let anyone interfere. If a dragon tried to do that, then the two dragons fighting would team up to kill him before resuming the fight."  
  
"That happens sometimes," I admitted, "But it also isn't considered good form to destroy the common room of the town's only tavern in a brawl."  
  
"It could be rebuilt." Garren shrugged. "He'd better watch out, though. One more remark about my scars and-" he slammed one fist into the other. "I'll see how tough he is on his own with no one to save him once he starts losing." Glowering, he turned and lay down again on his half of the bench. "Scars? I'll give him scars," he muttered.  
  
I studied the flagstones. Garren's burns had healed after Deningrad, but the healers themselves had been unable to do anything about the mass of scars that now covered his back and chest. Hidden for the most part by his shirt they weren't very noticeable, but he was still touchy whenever anyone mentioned them. If Mathis had been bothering him about them, then I wasn't really surprised that he had reacted that way. Then again, I wasn't all that surprised that Madrid had thrown him out either.  
  
Getting back to my feet, I raked my hair back out of my eyes and started back to my quarters. "Well, see you later on." /May as well go catch up on my sleep while I can/  
  
//If that's what you want//  
  
I spent most of the rest of the day in my bed in a fitful doze, mostly unaware of whatever was going on outside. The entire city seemed to be silent, as though smothered underneath a thick blanket. The heat outside had begun to seep into the apartments, filling the rooms with a stifling heat that was something reminiscent of the vast waste outside Ulara. I rolled over, kicking off my blankets. Charle must have been really distracted to let the heat get out of control like this. Stifling a yawn, I closed my eyes. The heat was slightly comforting though.  
  
I awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright with my ears ringing faintly. Wiping sweat from my brow, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and rested my feet on the floor. Grabbing my bandanna from where it lay with my jacket on the floor, I gave my forehead one last swipe before tying it on. /What's going on?/ I demanded silently.  
  
//Just thought you'd like to see this. Go on, take a look//  
  
With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I got to my feet and stepped over to the window.  
  
The sky outside was clear, without a cloud to obscure my vision. The sun was almost ready to set, the sky around it tinted a faint shade of orange. The Moon That Never Sets hung suspended at the peak of the sky's dome, still the same white-grey color as always. Relieved, I let out an explosive breath and turned away. "Ark, don't scare me like-"  
  
//Watch!// He told me sharply. Reluctantly, I turned back to the window.  
  
For a minute, perhaps, nothing happened. Then slowly the bottom of the Moon began to shift and change, as though a barely opaque rosy fog was drifting across the surface. As the fog spread upward the rosy hue deepened, until it was the deep crimson of fresh blood. Within moments most of the moon was covered in it, swirling slowly as though stirred by invisible eddies.  
  
I only watched it for a moment, then turned away again. Ignoring the churning of my stomach, I grabbed my sword belt from where it lay on a chair and began to fasten it up.  
  
Asalla's POV:  
  
Tired, I leaned back into the pillows piled up behind my head, trying to relax. At least as much as it is possible for one to recover after going through childbirth. Beside me Mathis sat on a rickety stool, holding one of my hands in his. He was whispering something quietly to me in soothing tones, but at the moment my ears were ringing so badly that I could hardly hear him. In any case, my attention was riveted on the tiny bundle resting in Lady Charle's arms. The ancient wingly was smiling broadly as she carefully held out the baby to me. My baby. It took a moment for me to grasp the thought. My baby. Feeling Mathis let go of my hand, I reached out my arms.  
  
The little face peeking out at me from between the folds in the blanket was small and plump and still quite red from crying, with a few thin wisps of silver hair laying flat on the soft scalp. And her eyes- she had my eyes!  
  
Beside me, Mathis was watching the two of us, his face alight with a kind of wonder. Reaching out tentatively with one hand, he brushed the baby's face with his fingertips, then pulled back his hand and kissed me lightly on the forehead. "She's beautiful, Asalla. Just like her mother. But what's her name?"  
  
I laughed weakly. "Mathis, you flatter me too much." Beautiful? I knew for a fact that at the moment my face and hair were probably streaked with sweat, and most likely almost as red as the little girl in my arms. But he was right; she needed a name. "Ayrel. Her name will be Ayrel."  
  
Laughing, Mathis kissed me again. "Wonderful, just wonderful."  
  
There was a knock at the door, and Charle left my bedside to answer it. Nuzzling my face into Ayrel's blankets one last time, I looked up to see who it was.  
  
Charle stood just outside the doorframe, head bowed in urgent conversation with someone I couldn't see. Whoever she was talking to, she was the one doing most of the listening. Once or twice she opened her mouth as though she was about to say something, but both times the protests seemed to die on her lips and she snapped her mouth shut again almost as soon as she opened it. At last her shoulders sagged in defeat, and she walked slowly back into the room with a grieved expression on her face that I had never seen there before. Dart came next, following closely behind her. As always, I could see the ethereal form of the Divine Dragon coiled loosely around the man's body, in control. Immediately Dart stepped into the room, Ragnarok's head swung around, fixing all eight of his eyes on the baby in my arms. The waves of hatred from Ragnarok hit me like a punch, so strong that my mind reeled. How could anyone feel such hatred for a mere child? Unless-  
  
Realization dawned. "No," I whispered, pulling Ayrel close to my breasts. "No!"  
  
Charle bowed her head in apology, but Ragnarok was implacable. "The child, Asalla. Best to give her up now before you grow too attached to the thing."  
  
"No! You can't have her!" With a dry sob, I buried my face into the blankets wrapped around Ayrel.  
  
"What's going on?" Mathis demanded, starting to his feet. "What do you want with her?!"  
  
Ragnarok's glare flickered from my baby to Mathis. "Tell me, Mathis Sear, have you thought to look out a window lately?"  
  
"What the hell does a window have to do with this?" He demanded, but stalked over to the nearest window, throwing suspicious glances back over his shoulder at Ragnarok the whole time. Reaching the window, he glanced out. "I still don't see what you-" he trailed off, staring ay what I could only assume was the Moon. He stared for perhaps a minute, his lips moving slowly as though speaking to himself as he weighed the possibilities. At last he turned away from the window. "Let me get this straight. You think that our baby is the Moon Child." He looked to Charle, who nodded her head slowly in confirmation. "The Moon Child! And you want to kill her?" Again that slow, painful nod. "You're insane! Don't you know what she can do for the world?"  
  
"I know exactly what she'll do to the world," Ragnarok said coldly, "and it won't be your Utopia."  
  
Mathis snorted as though he had just been told that the sun would rise in the north tomorrow. "You go right on telling yourself that. Just leave my girl out of this." I wasn't sure who he really meant, me, or the baby.  
  
"I'm afraid I can't do that." Ragnarok's head turned, and his ethereal form shivered. "Asalla. You know what will happen if I fail. Now give me the baby." He took a half step closer to the bed, but suddenly Mathis was in front of him.  
  
"If you take one more step closer to them, I swear I'll kill you Dart Feld."  
  
Ragnarok gave him an odd smile that bore more resemblance to a grimace. "'You'll kill me?'" He laughed, and I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck. "Don't make idle threats, Mathis." He was nearly a head taller than the other man, and glowering as he was seemed to loom threateningly over him. "The Child, now!"  
  
"You're a monster!" Mathis said unsteadily, stumbling a few steps backwards. "A monster, you hear me?!"  
  
"I've been called that from time to time before," Ragnarok admitted.  
  
Mathis stood dumbstruck for a moment as the full weight of the dragon's words crashed down on him, then with a strangled yell he lunged forward, a ball of fire appearing in either hand. He never had the chance to use them. Almost contemptuously Ragnarok smashed an elbow down on top of the wingly's head, then followed up with a hard punch to the jaw. Both fire balls flickered out as Mathis dropped to the floor unconscious.  
  
"Asalla. Don't be an idiot; you know what that baby will grow up to be. If you don't give her to me, I'm going to have to take her from you." Stepping over Mathis's crumpled form, he was at my bedside. "Now."  
  
Handing over Ayrel was perhaps the most difficult thing I'd ever done. Ragnarok muttered something about 'the desert' to Charle, then left with my baby. Charle, the midwife, and another wingly who I realized with a start was Nova stood there for a moment watching me before following. And then I was alone, save for my lover's crumpled form on the floor of the ward.  
  
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them and rested my chin on my kneecaps. My cheeks were damp, but no new tears streamed to join them. My grief had gone beyond simple tears. Outwardly I was quiet, but on the inside my soul keened and wailed as though being torn apart by a demon. A tiny corner of my mind whispered to me that it was for the best, but I beat it down mercilessly. That it was necessary was a small comfort, and in any case, I didn't want to be comforted. Staring without seeing at the far wall, I wondered what I could possibly do next. I had no one, save Mathis. Maybe Garren and Nova, but Dart- I didn't think I would ever be able to forgive him for what he and his dragon were about to do to my baby.  
  
That thought woke me as though someone had doused me with ice water. What was I doing?! My baby was about to die, and I was sitting on my bed in this stupid birthing outfit staring at a wall? I swung out the bed and might have fallen if I hadn't caught the edge of the bedside table in time. Gathering what little energy I had left, I closed my eyes and focused on my child. My child. Goddess, Moon Child or not, Ayrel was still my baby.  
  
Magic swirled around me, filling my mind and body with its pulse. A moment later I reappeared on a sand dune in what I assumed must be the Death Frontier. A flicker of movement in the hollow of the dune below me caught my eye. Dart. Or Ragnarok. I didn't bother making the distinction anymore; all that mattered was that he was pulling his sword from its sheath with what seemed an agonizing slowness. A tiny, pink wrapped bundle lay in the sand at his feet, a flap of the blanket flapping in the wind. I could just make out Ayrel's face, scrunched up and red as she wailed. The sound of her cry tore at my heart like a knife. It was all my fault.  
  
Half running, half falling down the side of the dune, I shoved past Dart and threw myself down over my child, trying to shield her with my body. Dart glared at me, but didn't pause in lifting the blade to his shoulder. Like the headsmen I had seen in books, preparing for an execution.  
  
It was that vision I had had so long ago all over again. The sun was hardly more than a sliver on the horizon, and the sky colored the bright crimson of blood in its passing. The wind had picked up again, sending sprays of sand into my hair and face, finding its way into my dress. Dart stood poised, ready to strike, black coat whipping in the wind. Death. The dragon flickered in the air around him with his tail lashing across the ground, coiling about my body. Gathering my energy I prepared to teleport, but whatever magic I had slipped between my wingers like water. Oh goddess, I was going to die and so was my child. Burying my face into the bundle of blankets, I waited for the blow.  
  
But it never came.  
  
Dart staggered backwards, beating at the flames that had suddenly burst up on his jacket. The sword slid from his grasp, falling to the sand without a sound. I hardly had time to wonder at this, when someone's arms slid around my middle. Mathis's arms. A moment later magic began to hum in my ears and the world dissolved into green.  
  
~-~  
  
The last of the sun's rays faded from the sky, the colors receding and slowly fading to the dark blue of night. The wind that had blown so strongly only minutes before died away until it was little more than a light breeze. Without the sun the heat quickly drained away to be replaced by a sharp chill. At the peak of the sky's dome the first few stars were beginning to show themselves, pinpricks of silver against dark blue velvet. Somewhere in the distance a rock owl came out of its nest, breaking the silence of the night with its soft cry.  
  
Dart slowly heaved himself to his feet, one hand testing the burnt patch of skin on his chest. For a moment he stared at the patch of sand where the child had been, then picked up his sword from where it lay on the sand. Sheathing it again slowly, he took one last look at the kicked up mound of sand before turning his back and starting back towards the broken tower of rock, for some reason feeling very tired.  
  
| End Part One | 


	30. Kazas

Urgh. Summer is wonderful, but the heat makes me lazy, so I never get anything done, or, if I do get anything done, it's only ever one thing at a time. That is why I enjoy the cold of winter. It allows me to multi-task, and we never have a complete week of school between Christmas break and March break. School is always closed due to snow, or flooding. I love living in the country! Now if only summer would get its ass out of here so that I can get something done.  
  
**Blinks** Hate winglies? Actually, I love them. I just have a tendency to maim, injure, or cause other misfortune to my favorite characters. This usually comes in the form of glomping. Which explains the pain factor.  
  
Kharg: **wrapped up in bandages and lying in a ward labeled 'GLOMP VICTEMS'** You seriously need to think up new ways to show your affection.  
  
  
  
Asalla's POV:  
  
"Ayrel, are you listening to me?"  
  
My daughter pulled her eyes away from the dagger that she had been examining and sighed. "Yes mother. In order to teleport correctly and safely, I must have a general notion of the area where I will re-emerge. The clearer the mental image or memory of the location, the more accurate the jump." She droned the lecture off without missing a beat. "Why are you telling me this again? I've only heard it at least a bazillion times before. And anyway, I can already make jumps farther than Father. Teach me something new, for once!"  
  
I sighed and shook my head. Of course I knew that she already knew how to teleport; it was just that I couldn't entirely bring myself to accept it. Everyone had always told me how astounding it was that I had already mastered my basic abilities by the time I was forty. This was something that I had come to accept, albeit with some difficulties. And yet my daughter who was hardly a month past her eleventh birthday had twice the strength I had then possessed, and was already beginning to show signs of new talents. Not my gift with empathy, but other gifts that were both wondrous and frightening at the same time.  
  
For instance, hardly less than a year ago we made the rather startling discovery that Ayrel could seemingly create spells drawn from her own imagination. There were limits on this of course, yet she still could pull a house down around her ears with only the air inside of it as a tool. When we finally pulled her, miraculously unhurt, from the rubble of the building and asked her how and why she had done this, her reply was a disturbingly simple "I just wanted to see if I could do it."  
  
"Well?"  
  
I shook my head. What was there left for me to teach her? She was already close to my match in strength, even if our talents were very different. This must have to do with the fact that she was the Moon Child, but I had long since realized that. "There's not much else that I can think of to teach, love." I told her, spreading my hands apologetically. "I'll try and work something out, but until then you'll just have to work on improving what you already can do."  
  
Ayrel pouted for a moment, flopping down into a heavily padded chair that was pushed up against one stone wall. There was little room for luxury in the underground levels of Kazas, but we had managed to piece together a more than suitable living arrangement. The chamber itself was hardly more than six paces long, but two padded chairs and a long table had been shoved up against one wall. A small fireplace had been set into the far wall for heat and cooking, the narrow chimney opening into the bottom of another in the temple above. The priests had tried to force more luxurious apartments on us, apparently in the black castle itself, but I had refused on the grounds that we would attract too much attention to ourselves that way. Attention was one thing that we had been trying to avoid for the past eleven years, no easy task when you have an entire cult kissing the hem of your daughter's skirts.  
  
"Fine then." Ayrel's face brightened. "I'll go and find Wilbur! I've been making him teach me swordplay as a birthday present." She laughed. "He won't let me practice with the boys, though. Seems to think that someone would get hurt." She paused, pursing her lips pensively. "Which they probably would," she admitted. Getting to her feet, she gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "Oh well. I'll see you later, mother." With another sudden grin, she disappeared in a flash of green light.  
  
I stared at the spot where she had been, considering following her, but then changed my mind. Mathis was up in the temple somewhere; he would keep an eye on her. Turning to the pile of hot coals glowing on the hearth I pulled a blackened tea kettle out of their midst and poured some of the fragrant mint tea into a porcelain cup. Returning the kettle to the coals, I seated myself on the edge of a chair and blew on the steaming amber liquid before taking a sip. It was a good brew; because of Kazas' flourishing trade with the other nations the temple was easily able to acquire the finest in dry goods. Tealeaves were abundant on almost every vendor's shelf. Strange, that the crowded marketplaces and the bustle of cities had seemed so strange and intimidating when Mathis had first brought us into the human city of Doneau. Partly because I had found it so overwhelming, partly because of the need for haste, we had not remained there long before traveling to Midlake.  
  
Taking another sip, I stared at the patterns woven into the rugs covering the floor. So much had happened since then. After leaving Midlake with a tenuous alliance formed with the elders, we had continued on to Bale. Our time spent there proved much more productive; after convincing the High Priest of the Moon Cult that Ayrel was indeed the child that they sought, all of the chapters of the cult in Serdio had sworn themselves to her. Within weeks the remainder of the cult in the rest of Endiness had also sworn similar oaths, binding their lives to hers.  
  
Unfortunately, all of this drawing attention to ourselves had a negative effect as well. Three months after our arrival in Serdio, Dart and Garren appeared without warning in the main hall of the temple, a lethal whirlwind of steel and blood shearing their way through the temple guards in an attempt to reach us. A quick jump to Hoax had removed us from danger, but not before six of the men in the melee went down with gaping wounds and smashed in faces. We had jumped straight from Hoax to Fletz and would have probably continued on to Mille Seseau had not Mathis reminded me that since there was no way of tracing the path of a warp, it was unlikely that anyone would catch up to us for quite some time. He was right in that respect, but even though we still traveled from city to city, Garren caught up to us again less than two years later. The years following this had been much the same, with Garren catching up to us twice more and Dart three times. Each time we were forced to make hasty jumps in order to escape, but I couldn't help but feel that a noose had begun to tighten about our necks. Years might go by between their appearances, but they were getting harder to avoid with each passing year.  
  
I started to take another drink, and then realized that except for the dregs the cup was empty. Swilling the brownish lumps around in the bottom of the cup, I got back to my feet and dumped them on to the hissing coals. Placing the cup back on the table, I took one last regretful look at the little room. It really was quite comfortable, really. Too bad that we would have to leave it behind yet again. Gathering in my energy, I fixed the image of the main hall of the temple firmly in my mind and released the spell. Traveling by teleportation over a short distance such as the one involved hardly lasts for much more than a heartbeat, and in a moment I found myself standing amidst a crowd of startled-looking worshipers. Ignoring their terrified looks I brushed past a pale, overly plump woman and her child and headed towards the altar resting on a dais positioned at the back of the hall.  
  
As I drew closer to the altar, I realized that its surface was covered with almost every type of gift imaginable. Fine silken cloths, rare spices, hand carved ivory figurines, even an elaborate, silver worked fencing sword. Offerings for the Moon Child, I realized. Several of the priests were grouped nearby, watching the milling crowd with sternly approving expressions. One of their number, a willowy blonde woman wearing a green robe of fine silk rather than the traditional linen, dropped into a deep curtsy and hurried to greet me. "Lady Asalla? You're up early this morning."  
  
"I am not one to sleep in-" I ranged through my memory, trying to put a name to her face. "-Anna. Have you seen my daughter anywhere?"  
  
Anna's brows creased into a disapproving frown, but I ignored her. Most of the priests and priestesses often reacted this way whenever I spoke of Ayrel as my daughter, or even when I mentioned her by her real name. They seemed to expect me to run about addressing her as the 'Holy Moon Goddess', or some other equally absurd title. Not that I doubted my child's identity; rather, I simply refused to think of her that way. No matter what she would become in life, all that I would be able to think of her as was my daughter, even if Mathis had already bought into the cultists' point of view. I had given away too much already to change that.  
  
"I believe that the Divine-"  
  
"Don't call her that!" I snapped, my voice harsher than I had intended. "Call her holy, call her sacred, but never address her as divine!" I glared at the woman until her gaze dropped to the marble floor and she murmured a meek "Yes, Lady Asalla."  
  
Putting a damper on my irritation, I regained my composure. "Where is Brother Nathaniel? If my daughter," I emphasized the word, watching with some satisfaction as the woman's mouth tightened in the corners, "is busy, I would speak with him with a matter of no small importance. Would you be so good as to fetch him for me?"  
  
I felt a flash of fury from Anna, but once again she was unable to meet my gaze. "I will send one of the hall attendants to deliver your request, my Lady." She had, in turn, emphasized the word 'attendants', as though to remind me that such tasks were below her station. I eyed her coolly. Mathis, bless his soul, may have come to follow their beliefs and even respect the priests, but I would never be able to bring myself to bow and scrape to them, much less show anything more than the most marginal respect.  
  
When the woman had begun to shift about nervously on the spot, and the fury had given way to uncertainty, I spoke. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Without waiting for her to leave, I picked up the fencing sword from the altar and began examining it. It was a weighty piece of work, encrusted with jewels in addition to the fine silver gilding on the basket hilt and blade. I know little enough about blades, but even I could tell that the piece was purely ornamental, useless for any form of real combat. The soft steel would be shorn through with one blow from a better-made weapon. Returning it to the altar, I did a quick inventory of the remainder of the gifts. Most were of much the same; beautiful, and most definitely valuable, but aside from a few donations of coin and a few of the spices they had no real use to us. Shaking my head I started to turn away, but paused as something caught my eye. Pulling aside a piece of cloth woven through with strands of gold, I regarded the offering for a moment, trying to make sense of what I saw. It was about ten inches long, made of what looked like an oddly shaped red-brown bone. Sculpted in smooth lines, the object vaguely resembled the head of a dragon with its narrow mouth open. In the cavity of the skull was a ridged pole, about as thick around as a man's thumb. An odd looking skull indeed.  
  
My breath caught in my throat as I abruptly recalled an image I had seen in an old text back in Ulara. No, not a skull. Carefully picking the ancient hilt from among the cloth and spice, I motioned over one of the servants, a tall man with iron-grey hair and a heavily lined face. "Were you around to see who brought this?" I asked, cradling the object in both hands.  
  
I sensed a flicker of curiosity as the old man glanced at it, and he nodded his head. "It was a journeyman. He said that he had found it in the lands to the far west; in a wasteland he called the Death Frontier. Seemed to think that it was a sword of some sort, although if you'll forgive me, my Lady, I think that if that is indeed what it is, he should have at least had the courtesy to present the blade as a gift as well." Bowing respectfully, he strode away in the direction of the kitchens.  
  
I had thought as much. Turning the dragon buster over in my hands, I ran my fingers along the grip inside the enclosed hilt. Near the base of the grip was a tiny depression, not much larger than the tip of my thumb; I drew my finger back as soon as I felt it. That must be what would activate the blade of the weapon. Untying the broad sash tied around my waist, I threaded it through the hilt before retying it. This would serve Ayrel far better than the ornamental rapier ever would.  
  
"Lady Asalla. I was informed that you wished to have a word with me?" A dry voice asked from my left. I had no need to turn around to see that it was Nathaniel: the particular lack of emotion that always seemed to be hovering around him identified him louder than words. I suppressed a shudder as I turned to face the man; the void surrounding him seemed to swallow up the feelings of every one else nearby, leaving my empathetic senses confused and blind. Supposedly some tragedy had occurred in his childhood, scarring him for life. What could have wounded his soul to such an extent, I had no idea, nor did I wish to know.  
  
"Brother Nathaniel. Would you care to walk with me?" Without waiting for a reply I started towards the back exit of the temple. Nathaniel fell into step beside me without so much as a word. I waited until we had passed through the doorway leading from the temple to the gardens beyond before speaking. "Do remember the matter I approached you on shortly after my family arrived?"  
  
"I could hardly forget." Nathaniel's eyes were focused straight ahead, ignoring the beauty around him. Of all the chapters of the Moon Cult, Kazas boasts the greatest wealth and splendor, with a temple that surpassed even the Shrines of the Goddess in other cities. The gardens surrounding the temple stretched for nearly a half a mile in either direction; apparently several of the old city streets and buildings had been torn down to make way for the new development. Now beds of flowers and small, sculptured trees had replaced the crumbling remnants of the ancient stone buildings. Apparently even the old owners of the homes had agreed it quite a refreshing development, once they had been compensated for their losses.  
  
"Have you learned anything?" I asked, pausing next to a lavender bush to pull once of the sprigs closer to my face.  
  
"We have." The tall man waited until I had moved on before continuing. "One of my agents spotted the wingly you told me about in the town about a week ago." He held up one hand as though expecting an outburst, but there was no need. He blinked, and then continued. "He's currently staying in an inn on the outskirts of the city, but has shown no sign of action aside from occasional trips into the outer marketplaces. He appears to be biding his time."  
  
So Garren had managed to track us into the city. Doubtless he had heard of Ayrel's presence in the temple from a traveler somewhere. But why hadn't he made his move yet? It wasn't as though it would be difficult to get into the temple; worshipers were allowed free rein of most of the grounds. Unless he was waiting for Dart. Yes, that would be it. Two of them rather than one would have a far better chance of catching us by surprise than just Garren by himself. I had seen the two of them fighting as a team in battle before; their skills by and large surpassed those of any of the few dread knights the temple had stationed here. "He'll be waiting for his partner." Nodded to him, a curt dismissal. "Thank you, Brother Nathaniel. You have been of great help to me."  
  
He bowed his head slightly in recognition of my thanks, then turned and walked swiftly back up the walk, heading back into the temple.  
  
Unconsciously touching the Dragon Buster hanging from my sash, I continued down the shaded walk towards the courtyard that lay in the back of the gardens where Wilbur habitually taught his swordsmanship classes. I would find Ayrel there, I knew. And Mathis as well, most likely. Lifting my skirts slightly as I stepped around a large snowball bush, I chose a long walkway shaded by the interwoven branches of the young weeping willows planted just off the white gravel path. Somewhere nearby there was a stream burbling along underground, the gurgling sound of the water flowing around rock and root just audible over the sound of the gravel crunching underneath my feet. Somewhere nearby a songbird was hidden from sight by the drooping willow branches, his trilling song echoing through the grove. I listened as I walked, humming an old child's song that I remembered my mother singing to me as a child.  
  
The tranquility of the morning was broken by the clack of wooden lathe swords knocking against one another and accompanied by the scuffle of feet struggling to find purchase on the sandy ground. Ducking under a particularly low hanging willow branch, I shaded my eyes and stepped out of the shadows and back into the spring sunlight.  
  
The 'courtyard' wasn't really a courtyard in the normal sense of the word. Hedged in by chest high cedars and surrounded with a wrought iron fence, it was almost entirely covered with short cropped blue-green grass. The only exception to this was a circular depression in the ground about twenty feet in diameter; this had been filled in with fine white sand, probably imported from the beaches near Lohan. Crowding in a tight cluster around the rim of the sandpit were William's students; boys ranging anywhere from age ten to seventeen dressed in linen over shirts and rust colored breeches that ended just below the knee. And every one of them filled with dreams of becoming a dread knight. In reality only three or four of them might be skilled enough to achieve that goal; one out of that number might be lucky enough to survive long enough to attain any sort of rank. Those who might survive more than five years would be considered among the elite. As I watched, the faces of those boys seemed to blur, a second image superimposed upon reality. So many of them would die before they reached manhood, but the faces of those who would survive were harsh and cold.  
  
Living weapons.  
  
Death.  
  
Which of those fates truly was the worst?  
  
Shaking myself out of the vision, I forced myself to see reality as it was in the moment. They were boys, nothing more. Not the still faces of the dead, nor the heartless faces of killers. Just boys, watching their classmates spar.  
  
"Mother! What are you doing here?" I gave a start as the crowd parted. Ayrel staggered out of the sandpit, covered in sweat and dirty, but her face was glowing with pride. Her shoulder length hair had been tied up in a messy ponytail, although most of the hair before her ears had fallen loose, framing her heart-shaped face with white-silver. She wore clothes similar in design to the boys, although her linen shirt was of a finer make than the others' were. In one hand she held a wooden practice sword, cracked and splintered from hard use. Over her shoulder, I could see two of the boys dragging a stocky lad groaning out of the ring. "I thought that you were in the temple."  
  
"I came to look for your father. What's going on here?" I asked, giving the practice sword a meaningful look. "I thought that you said that Wilbur wouldn't let you practice with the boys?"  
  
"I wasn't practicing, Mother. I challenged them." She told me, as though it were obvious. "Besides, I ordered Wilbur to let me."  
  
"Really?" I arched an eyebrow as I noticed Wilbur himself standing a few paces away watching us warily. When he realized I was staring at him, he jumped, and then gave an apologetic shrug. I gave him a hard look, then sighed and looked away. It wasn't his fault, after all; he could no more refuse an order from Ayrel than he could pick himself up by the scruff of the neck and hold him self out at arm's length. "Ayrel, why do you insist upon doing these things?"  
  
"I just wanted to see if I could do it." Her reply was surly. I felt a chill run down my spine. No matter what she did that always seemed to be her reason, if it even could be called one.  
  
"She is very talented, my Lady." William waved one hand to the crowd of boys. "She's managed to best six of the best of them. She would have dueled more, I think, but none of them are fool enough to accept the challenge."  
  
"But-" I thought back to our time spent in Kazas "-you've only been teaching her for a month and a half. Most of these boys have been studying the sword for-?"  
  
"At least two years, at most five." The grizzled old sword master shook his head. "Frankly, I'm as confused as you are, my Lady. Use a technique against her once, and it might work. But-" He shook his head again. "She dueled Kay, my most advanced student. In another year, he'll be ready for testing as a dread knight. She blocked most of his blows, and then returned each and every one of them. She beat him using his own techniques. It was almost as if she had learned them just by having them used against her."  
  
I glanced at my daughter, who had stood off to one side listening to the conversation. When she caught my gaze, she gave a slight smile and nod. So. It really was as William said. I resisted the urge to shake my head myself. Another unheard of ability, and she was hardly past her eleventh birthday. Moon Child or no, this was still incredible.  
  
"Asalla?" Mathis ducked out from under the willow branches screening the mouth of the path and hurried towards us, oblivious of the leaves stuck in his hair. The leaves brushed aside once more and Nathaniel stepped out calmly, tailed closely by a young boy whose ears stuck out noticeably from the sides of his head. "There you are. This man told me that he had something urgent to speak to you about."  
  
Nathaniel bowed deeply to Ayrel before turning to speak to me. "You asked me to alert you once the other man you described to me was sighted, Lady Asalla?"  
  
A dead weight settled into my stomach. "Yes. You have seen him?"  
  
The brother settled one hand on the boy's shoulder. "Ewan here is one of my agents. He arrived by horse shortly after we spoke earlier. The man was on the North Road, about five miles from the city." A brief frown flickered across his features. "We were lucky to get wind of this before he arrived. You never did tell us his name, you realize."  
  
"It wouldn't make any difference. He changes his name the way another man would change coats." This was all too true; to my knowledge, Dart never used his real name outside of Ulara. I had thought this pointless at first, but after a few years of being on the run, looking over my shoulder constantly for some sign that he may be gaining ground on us, I had come to realize how difficult it could be to keep track of a man with no name.  
  
Nathaniel nodded slightly. "Of course. What do you wish for us to do about him?"  
  
"Ambush him," William shrugged. "Station half a dozen of my dread knights in one of those copses along the road outside of the city. They would make short business of him."  
  
Mathis snorted, but I smiled thinly. "You would just be throwing away the lives of your men, William. No, we will be leaving." I raised one hand to forestall any arguments. "Let it be known through out the temple and the city. It will save you considerable bloodshed."  
  
William opened his mouth and then closed it again. Nathaniel said nothing at first, mulling the news over in his mind, although his face betrayed none of his thoughts. "You will have to inform the high priest of this, my Lady." He said finally. "He will not accept the news from anyone save the three of you." Bowing once more, he strode briskly away, still steering the young man along in front of him with one hand on his shoulder. William followed suit, bowing so deeply to Ayrel that his nose scraped the ground before returning to the cluster of boys around the sandpit, yelling in his deep booming voice that they ought to return to practicing.  
  
Mathis drew Ayrel and I back away from the class until we were out of earshot. "Why are we running again?" He asked, a furious undertone to his voice. "William is right; we should set up an ambush for them here in the temple. Throw all of the dread knights at them, and they'll never know what hit them."  
  
"You know that we can't do that," I snapped. "All that it would take is for things to get out of hand and Dart would turn into that monster he calls a dragoon. He could level the entire temple in the blink of an eye without feeling a hair of guilt. If we leave now, no one will have to die pointless deaths for our sakes."  
  
"You're too soft when it comes to humans," Mathis muttered, but I knew that I had won the argument. "Fine. If we must run, then where are we going to go?"  
  
"Can we go to Fueno?" Ayrel asked. "We've never been to Fueno before." For all the seriousness of the situation, she sounded as excited as though we were discussing possible locations for a vacation.  
  
"Fueno sounds as good as anywhere else." Resting my hands on their shoulders, I closed my eyes and fixed the image of the main hall into my head. The high priest should be somewhere nearby.  
  
As usual, our abrupt appearance in the middle of the main hall caused quite a commotion; several of the acolytes gave quite a jump and then stumbled away with red faces, their efforts to cover up their surprise only slightly marred by reddening cheeks and ears. There were only a few commoners in the hall at the moment: most of them had almost fallen over themselves bowing at Ayrel's sudden appearance. For her part, my daughter didn't seem to take any notice of the half-dozen forms lying prostrate on the stones of the temple floor. Instead she pointed to the arched entryway that opened to the streets. Several people were grouped on the steps just outside.  
  
"That's him, isn't it?"  
  
Silhouetted against the bright light flooding in from the outdoors, it took me a moment to distinguish one man from another. Vern, the High Priest of Serdio, a tall lantern jawed middle-aged man was indeed one of the three men standing in the archway, the second being a dread knight captain I knew as Kurrik, identifiable by the wicked looking armor his kind were never seen without. The third I did not recognize: a young man of perhaps nineteen standing only slightly shorter than Vern, he could almost have passed as a commoner were it not for the massive five and a half foot bastard sword strapped across his back.  
  
"-Left on one of your bloody campaigns a year or two back and haven't heard a word of him since!" The young man snapped angrily, brushing his heavy chocolate brown hair out of his eyes. "I want to know what happened to him and where he is now!"  
  
"I'm sorry mister-" Kurrik trailed off, searching for a name.  
  
"Damnen. Zion Damnen." Zion growled in a frustrated voice. "My brother's name was Daysk."  
  
"Daysk Damnen." Kurrik repeated thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, but I can't be expected to remember the name of every one of our soldiers. If you say that he was on a campaign, then there's a good chance that he never returned from it. We've given up on our campaigns into the Eastern lands; both of them resulted in disaster. You would be best advised to simply return home, Mister Damnen. Continuing to pursue the hopes that your brother is still with us is pointless." Kurrik's voice was flat.  
  
Zion stood silently for a moment, jaw muscles working furiously. Then with a roar he lunged at the dread knight, both hands going to the hilt of his massive sword.  
  
Kurrik reacted so swiftly that I almost didn't see him move at all. Reaching out with his left hand he caught the other man by the front of his shirt, striking him back handed with his right as he did so. Before Zion could cry out Kurrik had released his grip and landed a kick in the man's side that sent him sprawling backwards down the stone stairs.  
  
"I'm sorry you had to see that, your grace," Kurrik said grimly to Vern, "But he was a danger to the both of us." The back of his right gauntlet had ridges running along them, twisted wickedly sharp imitations of animal claws. The claws, as well as most of the gauntlet, were streaked with bright red blood.  
  
"Your actions were fully justified, Kurrik." Vern told him, surveying the still form of the man at the bottom of the stairs with some distaste.  
  
"You seem quite calm about this, your grace." Mathis said suddenly, his voice sounding cold to my ears.  
  
Vern and Kurrik turned as one man, both of them sinking into startled bows at the sight of Ayrel. "Holy Moon Child. Lady Asalla. Lord Mathis." Vern's voice carried only a hint of the surprise that seemed to waft from him in waves. "I am sorry; we did not notice your approach."  
  
"I see." Mathis glanced past them. A small crowd had begun to form around Zion's body; it looked as though he was beginning to stir. "Do you have to deal with these disturbances often?"  
  
Kurrik shrugged. "We get them every so often. Distraught family members seldom have sense when it comes to these matters."  
  
"We're leaving," I cut in before they could continue. "Now. You had best let it be known."  
  
"But-"  
  
"My mother said, 'we're leaving'. Do you have any objection to that?" Ayrel's voice was deceptively sweet.  
  
Vern swallowed nervously. "No. None at all. But what about your offerings?"  
  
"We've taken all that we will need from them." I replied, one hand going absently to the dragon buster strung onto my sash. "Consider the rest a donation to the temple."  
  
"Th-thank you-!" A welter of confused emotions and words flooded from the two men in front of me, but I was no longer paying them any attention. In the square below, Zion was struggling to his feet, the left side of his face a bloody ruin. No one moved to help him; the crowd stayed well back, regarding him gravely. It was not often that someone made an assault on a cultist. They were probably curious as to what was to happen to him.  
  
Evidently nothing. Before anyone could react, Zion was shoving his way through the crowd away from the temple. After a look at Kurrik and the High Priest, no one made a move to stop him. I stared after him, feeling a hint of worry beginning to gnaw at the back of my head. Not a vision, exactly, but just a feeling. The man's future lay ahead of him, and somehow I had the feeling that my daughter was wound up in the strings of his fate; or maybe it was the other way around. Zion Damnen.  
  
I felt a light touch on my arm. "Mother, we had better be going now. There's no reason to stay."  
  
I nodded and allowed her to lead me out of the archway, but I spared one last glance over my shoulder. Zion was nowhere to be seen, disappeared among the throng. If it hadn't been for the pool of dark blood at the bottom of the temple steps, there was no sign that he had ever been here at all.  
  
  
  
Ack. I know it's late, but I was staying at my instructor's house all of last week while I worked at one of her camps, so I had no computer access for a while. ^-^ Ha! For once I had an actual excuse other than life itself! **does a victory dance** Of course, I suppose it didn't help matters any that I went and got myself addicted to Arc the Lad the day after I got home. . 


	31. Spirit

Shade: **squinting at a book, turning it sideways, upside down, etc. as she struggles to make sense of it** Hmmm. "J'ai un petit probleme au visage depuis ce matin." **blinks at page**  
  
Garren: **looking over her shoulder** You still haven't given up on that?  
  
Shade: It's supposed to be funny! I know it's supposed to be funny! But for some reason it loses all of the humor in the translation!  
  
Garren: Maybe it would help if your french vocabulary consisted of more than 'fromage' and 'Je vie dans la boit?' Kind of pathetic, if you ask me.  
  
Shade: Hey, I LIKE that box, thank you very much!  
  
O.O My friend just recently came back from Quebec, with much manga and posters to fuel my Kenshin obsession. Only problem is, the manga is in french. I have the translations on my computer so I know what it should mean, but the story sort of loses the effect while I'm trying to decide whether they're talking about fighting or fermented fish. -_-; Oh well, I wanted it mostly for the pictures anyhow. I just wish that whenever I saw the pictures of Jin'eh's smile I wouldn't get the urge to use them as a xylophone. @_@  
  
LewsTherin: ^_______^ Actually, The Belgariad and the Mallorian are my two favorite book series of all time, and I'm currently neck-deep in the Wheel of Time series. Love'em all to death. Especially Garion, Rand, Mat, and Silk. As for Ragnarok, seeing as he plays a significant role in the storyline, I wanted him to have personality, creature of mass destruction or no. I think that he turned out pretty well. **feeds Ark a random cultist** He's such a good boy.  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
Tightening my grip on the front of the man's robes I shoved him hard against the wall of the alley, ignoring his squeal of pain and surprise. "I'll ask you nicely one more time," I gritted, keeping my voice low enough that it wouldn't carry past his ears. "When did Ayrel leave, and where were they going?"  
  
"I already told you," the cultist rasped, "I don't know that! Only the high priest knows- arrgh!" He groaned as I leaned against him, driving my elbow into his chest. "I mean, if anyone-arrghhhhh! All right! They left yesterday night, just after the forth invocation. That's all I know, I swear!"  
  
/Ark?/  
  
//Keep pressing him. He knows more than he's letting on// Ragnarok said firmly.  
  
"I don't believe you." I told the quaking man flatly. With another groan, he rolled his eyes towards the mouth of the alley and emitted a rasping yell that died in his throat as I increased the pressure on his windpipe. I wasn't really all that worried about being interrupted: the pedestrians on the street continued about their business, each of them making a point not to look into the alley. Things of this sort were frequent in Lohan, and most of the city's residents knew by instinct, if not experience, that it was better not to involve themselves in other people's affairs. "This is your last chance. Where did they go?" I lifted my knee slightly and pulled a narrow dagger from the top of my boot. Flipping it around on my palm experimentally, I bounced the wire bound hilt into my palm and grasped it tightly.  
  
Shutting his eyes, the acolyte moaned again. "If I tell you, will you promise to let me go?"  
  
"Promise."  
  
"She went e-east!" He stammered, stuttering over the words in his haste to get them out of his mouth. "I-I think that Lord Mathis mentioned something about 'Vista'. It, uh, I think it's a village near that ancient shrine up in the mountains."  
  
/Sound good?/  
  
//Good enough// Ark grumbled, sounding displeased in spite of his words. I ignored him; more than likely he had been hoping that the Acolyte would have given me a reason to use my knife.  
  
Releasing my hold on the man's collar, I let him slump to the ground as I slipped my knife back into my boot. Before he could bolt, however, I caught his shoulder in a light grip. "By the way, who was it that you said you were aide to?"  
  
"His Grace Martin Thyne, head of the temple." He choked out, plainly terrified.  
  
"Perfect." Placing one hand on either side of his head on his temples, I half-smiled. "We have to thank you, mister. You've been of great help to us." Opening my mind and relaxing all mental boundaries I usually kept between my partner and myself, I felt the hair rise on my arms as Ark's magic flickered through my body.  
  
Between my hands the acolyte stiffened and then his eyes glazed over and his body went limp. He remained like this for perhaps a minute after I took my hands away, and then his head snapped back up again. Staring around the alleyway with dazedly confused eyes, he finally fixed his gaze unsteadily on me. "W-who are you?" He asked suspiciously, eyes wandering to the sword at my side briefly.  
  
"Just a friend. You really should pick your taverns more carefully, mister. That barkeeper had you tossed out on the street the moment you passed out. If I hadn't been around, the thieves probably would have stripped you and left you stark naked in the middle of the street for the children to throw rocks at." I hooked both my thumbs into my belt. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Dizzy. Headache."  
  
"Well, there's not much else you can expect, not after a bender like that." I replied cheerfully. Still smiling like a moron, I watched as his eyes lost focus for a moment as his brain latched onto the story I had just told him, registering it as the truth in the absence of a proper memory to go by. "I'd better be going. I mean, now that you're conscious, there's not much point in hanging around." Fishing a couple of coins out of my pocket, I dropped them on the stones at his feet. "Here, go find yourself a bucket of water and dunk your head in it a couple of times. That usually helps with the hangover." I started off down the alley, then on impulse stopped and looked back over my shoulder. "See you around, Bob."  
  
//Bob?//  
  
I shrugged as I stepped out the alley and back into the dusty, crowded street. /He needed a name. Otherwise, he'd probably spend the rest of his life as 'hey, you!'/  
  
//That I understand, but why 'Bob'?//  
  
/It has a certain ring to it, don't you think?/ I said expansively, side-stepping a merchant's cart loaded dangerously high with wrought iron pots.  
  
The divine dragon made a sound of infinite disgust before returning to stony silence. I barked a laugh, drawing several nervous looks from the people crowded against me. Regaining my composure, I tugged on my belt, turning it so that the hilt of my sword was more evident. In spite of the baking summer heat, I still made a point of wearing my jacket as a means to cover up the dragoon spirits set into the belt dangling loosely from my waist. Having them stolen once was enough; I didn't want to have to repeat the experience a second time. Especially not with the cult's influence in Lohan as strong as it was right now.  
  
Whatever good mood I had managed to maintain evaporated with the thought. It had been sixteen years since I had left Ulara, and I was still no closer to seizing Ayrel. And with a real Moon Child finally walking free in the world, the cult's following had never been so strong. With every year she walked free her influence spread and my marginal control over the situation decreased. In truth, my only real control over the situation lay in the cygnets scattered about Endiness. As long as those globes remained intact then there was no way possible that the spirit of the Virage Embryo could reunite with its body. But even this insurance policy had its faults; both Mathis and Asalla had known about the existence of the cygnets, and the location of at least one of them. Without a doubt they had guessed that there were more than just the one.  
  
I clenched my hands into fists, then relaxed them. I had long since lost whatever qualms I had previously had about killing the daughter of an old friend. Things had progressed too far for me to have second thoughts on the matter. Sixteen years. Yes, matters were definitely getting out of hand.  
  
//Such pleasant thoughts// Ark said, sounding amused. //Not of the sort that I would normally expect from you, but a refreshing change all of the same//  
  
/Shut up/ I snapped, but I gave myself a mental shake. If my thoughts were morbid enough that Ark was making comments; it was a fair sign that I needed something to distract me. Jostled about by the mass of people milling around me, I cast my eyes around the marketplace. There was plenty to look at; with the midsummer festival going on, banners of bright striped cloth hung from every window and door. Here and there people had grouped about travelling minstrels whom stood atop stacked crates or stairs, telling stories with loud voices and animated movements, or playing joyful songs on flutes or fiddles. A hat or a box sat nearby each performer with tarnished gold and silver coins glinting in their depths. A surly-looking man clutching a knife or club while they kept a watchful eye on the crowd nearby almost always accompanied the hats. The minstrels may have been there to entertain the crowds, but when it came to the safety of their day's earnings they took no chances.  
  
Aside from the minstrel's audiences, the crowd for the most part seemed to be heading in the same general direction. Keeping one hand rested on the pommel of my sword, I allowed my self to be caught up in the flow of people. In an ever-changing town like Lohan, there were only ever two things that drew crowds like this. And I was fairly certain that there were no public executions scheduled for today.  
  
Traditions vary from town to town, but in Lohan there seems to only be two; the fast-paced, ever changing environment which in truth inhibits the possibility of ever forming new traditions, and the Hero Competition. Myself, I was amazed when I first discovered that it was still around after almost nine hundred years. But when you think about it, no matter how much civilization changes, there will probably always be a couple of muscle brained idiots willing to beat on each other in hopes of attaining glory and the prize money. With a couple of people who just enjoy the competition thrown in as well, of course.  
  
//So I'm assuming that you fell into the 'muscle brained idiot' category, correct?//  
  
/Shut up/  
  
//And beaten in the final round. And by a wingly to boot//  
  
/At least that wingly didn't manage to seal my soul into a chunk of stone/ I half muttered.  
  
//What was that?//  
  
/Nothing/ The arena came into view as we rounded the corner. It looked quite different from the first time I had seen it; eight hundred odd years and two wildfires had seen to that. Now much of the building was constructed of rough grey stone, with a large painted wooden sign depicting two men hacking at each other with axes hanging over the main entrance. Merchants hawking weapons and armor lined the avenue leading up to the arena, scanning the crowd hopefully for prospective customers. /Feel like watching a bit of it? That sign over there says that the finals are today/  
  
//We still have to go to Vista, remember//  
  
/We'll head there tonight, then/ Dropping a few gold pieces into a steel bound chest for admittance fees, I stepped into the queue waiting to get inside.  
  
Despite the heat of the summer outdoors, the interior of the arena was cool and shady. The air smelled faintly of stale beer and unwashed bodies, mingling with the scent of hundreds of slow-burning tobacco pipes. The arena itself was more or less as I remembered it, although several extra rows of seating had been added. Seating myself on a rickety bench near the top row close to a group of young men and woman, I rifled through my coat pockets, looking for a cloth wrapped biscuit I'd stored there during my breakfast that morning.  
  
//You aren't competing?// Ark asked, faintly surprised.  
  
Finding the bundle of cloth, I smiled thinly as I started to unwrap it. /I'd spoil the competition/ I told him, recalling that Rose had told me the same thing when confronted with that particular question. No good; the biscuit was a crumbled mess. It must have been ruined during my scuffle with the acolyte back in the alley. I stared at it for a moment, then picked up one of the larger pieces and began to eat. Food was food after all, and I was hungry.  
  
Fifteen minutes or so passed, with nothing more happening than the rest of the seats filling up. Once the benches were crowded enough that people were starting to have trouble breathing, a stout man with a ruddy face and a drooping handlebar mustache strode to the center of the ring, announcing the schedule for the afternoon's proceedings. The competition was considerably larger then when I had entered it last; apparently it had already been in progress for the past two days, slowly whittling down the original hundred entries down to a mere fourteen entries in the finals. The fighters, on their part, seemed to have sprung from every corner of Endiness. Men and even a few women from Rogue, Mille Seseau, Tiberoa, Serdio, and Illisa Bay, two winglies who refused to name their hometowns, and even one towering massively muscled man who I suspected might have a strain of Giganto blood running through his veins. The weapons used were every bit as varied as the people: swords, axes, bows, spears and maces, almost every weapon I could think of or name bristled from the finalists and their beaten opponents seated on benches around the lip of the arena.  
  
One fighter in particular caught my attention, though. Standing at least a head taller then most of the competitors, he was a young man in his mid- twenties with dark brown hair that hung down raggedly around his ears; it looked as though he had hacked it off with a knife. Unlike most of the competitors, who appeared to be mercenaries or soldiers, he was dressed plainly in clothes not that different from those of the commoners. That was strange; the entry fee had grown high enough over the years that most commoners couldn't afford to enter. The only thing about his appearance that set him apart from the commoners was the massive, five and a half-foot bastard sword that he used in combat.  
  
I had seen better swordsman, for sure, but he was skilled; anyone with half a brain could tell that. Unlike most of those who used double handed swords like his, he used it as a proper sword rather than a bladed cudgel. His only real disadvantages were his lack of armor and the weapon's great weight. Probably not the best of combinations, but he managed to avoid getting himself maimed. As the matches progressed so did he, deftly taking out each opponent under the two-minute time limit. When the final round arrived, I wasn't surprised to see that the man was one of the two fighters. The other was the half-giganto I had noted fighting in the earlier rounds.  
  
As the two of them squared off in the middle of the ring, Ark commented lazily //Dart, people are staring at you//  
  
/Quiet/ I muttered, not fully registering what he had just said. /I'm trying to watch this/  
  
The dragon sighed, then tried again. //Dart, your ass is glowing//  
  
/What?!/ I snapped upright, and glanced behind me. /Ha ha. Very funny/ I replied, but my voice was faint. A bright red glow was showing though my jacket, just below my hip. Getting hurriedly to my feet and shooting glares at the few whom had been staring at the odd sight, I slipped from the stands and ducked into the shadows next to the registration booth. Giving myself a moment to let my breathing slow back to normal again, I pushed back my coat and clicked the red -eye spirit from its holder on the carrier belt. It was glowing violently, resonating in time with something unseen. Shooting nervous glances up at the stands nearby, I closed my fingers tightly around it, trying to mask the glow. Pointless, because the stone's light flared up in rays between the cracks in my fingers. Cursing, I shoved my hand into the pocket. /Can't you do anything about the glowing?/  
  
//Not likely. Even if there was a way that I could, you would have an easier time talking to Rythl than I// The corner of my mouth twitched in the backwash of Ark's annoyance. //He always enjoyed playing games with me. No, the spirit will probably resonate for as long as the prospective dragoon is nearby//  
  
/Who, though?/ With the spirit safely out of sight, I turned slightly so that I could watch the rest of the fight. /One of them?/  
  
//Possibly. It could be one of the spectators, for all that we know//  
  
I remained silent. The swordsman was slowly advancing across the ring, blade held at the ready. His opponent was down, I realized, bleeding profusely from a gash on his shoulder. The man's weapon, a heavy steel bound cudgel about a meter long, lay broken in half in the arena dust a couple of paces away. Immediately regretting that I had had to leave the stands, I wedged myself in between a pair of howling spectators at the lip of the ring just in time to see the half-giganto grab a fistful of sand and fling it into the smaller man's eyes.  
  
Instinctively clutching at his eyes the man stumbled backward, still managing to keep a hold of his bastard sword with one hand. The half- giganto followed after him, egged on by the cheering of the audience, stepping on the blade of the sword with one foot. When his opponent lurched forward as the sword was torn from his grasp, he reached out with both hands and seized him. Lifting him over his head, the brute threw him bodily against the far wall of the ring. The smaller man lay still, and for a moment the crowd held its collective breath. A moment later he was back on his feet, however, wiping away the stream of blood that was pouring from his lip. Now that I was closer I could clearly see the three long scars running down the left side of his face from his hairline almost to his jaw. Whatever had happened to him in the past, he was certainly no stranger to pain and fighting.  
  
Taking the bastard sword and burying it half its length in the arena floor, the half-giganto cracked his knuckles ominously. With both weapons now out of commission, things were starting to look less like an organized fight and more like a street brawl. With blood from his shoulder dripping off his elbow and leaving a little splatter trail on the ground behind him as he walked, the larger man prowled across the ring toward his rival, one fist drawn back and ready to strike.  
  
Somewhere from within the judge's booth someone had started a thirty-second countdown in a loud, booming voice. Within moments the crowd had taken up the call, counting off the last seconds of the match.  
  
Seemingly galvanized into action by the closing time window, the half- giganto lunged at his opponent, swinging hard with both fists, once, twice, three times. The swordsman dodged all three, ducking under the first two, then ducking and moving in close on the third. Before the other man could manage to strike at him with his fists again, the scar-faced man moved quickly, hitting him hard twice in the bulge of muscle just above his knee with his shinbone. He must have struck a nerve, for the big man's legs buckled and collapsed from underneath him no sooner than the second blow was delivered. He fell to the ground with a roar just as the crowd had reached the final ten seconds of their countdown.  
  
When it became clear that the fallen man was unable to stand again, the announcer jumped out of the judge's booth and into the arena, waving a red flag back and forth to signify the end of the match. Grabbing the exhausted swordsman's arm, he hoisted it into the air. "Ladies and gentlemen! I have the honor to present to you Zion Damnen, your tournament champion and the strongest man in Endiness!"  
  
As the crowd's cheers grew to a deafening roar I turned away and started back towards the entrance. The red-eye spirit was now growing so warm that my fingers were starting to sweat inside my pocket. At least I was fairly certain that we had found whom the spirit was reacting to. /What now?/  
  
//We get out of here before we get caught in the crowd. Then we wait until this Zion guy leaves and we follow and keep an eye on him. If his loyalties appear to be in the right place, then we can think about what we'll do next//  
  
/What do you mean by that?/ I asked, reaching the exit. Long shadows were stretching across the street as the sun slowly sunk below the city walls; the contest had taken up most of the afternoon, by the looks of it.  
  
//Face it, Dart. Rythl isn't exactly the pickiest when he chooses his partners. He chose you even before your father was dead, and then chose to return to him at a rather inconvenient moment. And then he went and allowed himself to be used by that idiot Zen. He could just be desperate to have some sort of contact with the world again// He paused, reflecting on his own words. //I say that we wait. If we see any reason that Endiness may need more than one dragoon again, then we can reconsider. Until then, we'll hold tight to the spirits//  
  
/True/ Stepping back into a niche in the stone wall, I waited patiently as the packed arena gradually cleared out with clusters of people exiting in groups of ten or fifteen. Competitors filtered out at intervals, some looking bruised, most looking discouraged. Towards the end of the queue I even caught sight of the half-giganto hurrying out into the street with a face like a thundercloud, closely followed by a group of brutish-looking young men who I decided must be his hangers-on. The shadows on the street lengthened, then disappeared as the sun sunk out of sight over the horizon. The blue grey light of dusk moved in to replace it, drawing some of the day's heat out of the air, but not nearly enough. It would be yet another hot, breathless night within the city walls; light breezes never seemed to make their way into the streets. Further down the road the shop vendors had begun to pack up their wares and make their way back to the inns where they made their lodgings. One or two of them shot a suspicious glance in my direction, but most of them hurried away, eager to get off of the streets before the thieves came out in full force.  
  
Shortly after the bell tower in a nearby inn tolled the tenth hour, Zion slipped out of the arena, covered in a light cloak although the foot long hilt and broad cross trees of his sword protruding over his left shoulder were much in evidence. I remained still as he passed, hoping that my coat would cover the telltale glint of moonlight on my sword blade. He passed without incident though, walking briskly with his eyes flickering back and forth, keeping an eye on the shadows on either side of him. I waited until he was about halfway down the street before following at a safe distance.  
  
Surprisingly, none of the thieves lurking in the shadows or hiding in the alleyways made an effort to jump him as he passed. The heavy sword strapped across his back seemed to dissuade any thought of going after the prize money that he was probably carrying somewhere on his person. I stalked after him, my long knife held ready in hand. Damnen may have had the grandiose sounding title of "Strongest Man in Endiness" as a barrier between him and the thieves, but I had no such advantages. More than once I had to change some idiot's mind about trying to mug me; usually all that this would take was a couple of sharp blows, but once I did have to nick the offender fairly deep with my knife before he cut and ran. Once or twice during these little detours I lost sight of my quarry, but by the time I finally reached the city gates I could just make out his silhouette against the grassy plains, following the hard packed road southward in the direction of Kazas.  
  
/Heading home, do you think?/ I asked, not bothering to suppress a grin as a night breeze stirred a few errant strands of hair. The wind was coming in off the ocean, some four miles to the west. Being outside the city walls beat being cooped up in an inn, in more ways than one.  
  
//Maybe. I think he's just trying to put as much distance between himself and Lohan before he stops for the night. They must've awarded him with a fair bit of money if he's going through all of this trouble to keep it safe// Ark remarked as a dark smudge of forest appeared on the horizon.  
  
"I wish Garren were here," I muttered aloud, half to myself. "It would save some walking if we could just warp from one end of the plains to the other." Over the last four years I had only seen Garren once, and that had been more by chance than anyone else. He had been spending his time lately in the island village of Rogue, one of the few places in the world that hadn't changed drastically over the centuries. He had always been fascinated by what I had told him of the Rogue School Martial Arts, so when Ayrel's flight took her in the direction of the Broken Islands, I found myself leaving him behind after we had headed her off. Ragnarok hadn't been pleased with his decision, but in the end had been won over by Garren's promises of how much more powerful he would be after several years of training. In truth several years might not teach him as much as he believed, but if he thought it might give him an edge in combat then I was all for it.  
  
//Walking won't hurt you. You've been flying too much lately anyhow//  
  
/This, coming from a dragon?/  
  
//You know what I mean//  
  
It was almost an hour later when we finally reached the first few trees on the outskirts of the forest. Tall birches, bent on odd angles from years of growing in the high winds that normally swept the plains, were scattered in a thin curtain near the road and casting long shadows in the moonlight. Zion never slowed his pace as he strode along the beaten track. Pausing just past the first tree, I frowned. /I don't think we should bother going much further. It's going to be too difficult to follow him in there without him noticing/ I nodded my head toward the woodlands. /We'll be bound to run into beasts in there, and the sound of a battle will catch his attention/  
  
//Whatever. We need to be heading to Vista soon anyhow//  
  
I nodded, and turned to head back out onto the plains. Before I had gone a dozen paces, however, a distant voice from behind me pulled me up short.  
  
"Well, look who we have here. Bit late to be out for a stroll, don't you think." A deep voice like distant thunder rumbled.  
  
"Shove it, Cyclos, and get out of my way. Unless you want me to cut your head in two; there isn't a board of judges prohibiting us from doing anything of the sort now." The second voice was a baritone, though considerably higher than the first speaker was.  
  
"So right you are. Zion, wasn't it?" The leer that must have been on the man's face was almost audible.  
  
Muttering curses to myself I left the path and doubled back, slipping from tree to tree in the darkness. On the road someone had lit a torch, burning like a beacon in the blackness. Using that as I guide, I was able to draw to within twenty paces of the speakers before I was forced to halt motionless behind a low bush. Peering through the branches, I bit down on my lip. /Damn it/  
  
Zion had his sword unsheathed now and was gripping it tightly in both hands. Six men had closed in on him in a circle; most of them armed with long, nine-foot pikes. The half-giganto stood prominent among them, passing a rough wooden cudgel the size of a man's leg from hand to hand. "Well Zion, if you don't want to hand over the gold, then we're going to have to take it from you."  
  
"You're welcome to try," Zion shot back, as though it were just him and the man he had called Cyclos rather than a six on one fight.  
  
Snarling an order in a harsh dialect that I didn't recognize, Cyclos lunged forward swinging his club wildly. The pikemen followed suit; metal tips of their weapons gleaming in the light of the torch someone had dropped in the road behind them.  
  
Rushing to meet the charge of the nearest mercenary, Zion dropped to one knee at the last moment so that the long hooked spearhead passed harmlessly over his head. Springing forward from the crouch with his sword held out before him, the young man caught the pikeman high in the chest. Almost in the same movement he wrenched the blade around, freeing the weapon and deflecting a stab from the second pike as he did so. Swinging the sword ponderously up over his head, he brought it down in a vertical blow aiming for the spear's owner. The man was able to dodge to one side in time -but his fellow standing behind him wasn't so lucky. Jerking the blade free, he just had time to raise it before the remaining four fell upon him.  
  
/They're going to crush him/ I said grimly, freeing my sword from my belt. /He doesn't have room to use that bastard sword/  
  
There's nothing honorable about stabbing your opponent in the back, but over the years I've been forced to do so many things contrary to the sort that I'm amazed that I still remember the meaning of the word. The first two went down before they could cry out, and when the third twisted to see what the threat was he caught the flat of my blade full in the face. As he dropped to the ground, unconscious with blood fountaining from his crushed nose, I took a few steps back as Cyclos half-turned to face me. As he did so I was able to catch a glimpse of Zion sprawled out on the ground, bleeding profusely from several pike slashes.  
  
It appeared that Cyclos' club had been shorn in half again, for now he was holding Zion's bastard sword easily in one hand. With the hilt almost disappearing in his grip, the enormous weapon appeared dwarfed by its new user. Cyclos smiled at me grimly, swinging his new weapon back and forth in front of him in a slow arc. "Rescue party, huh? Little late for that, don't you think?" Stepping forward, he swung the sword like a club, meaning to bring the bladed edge down upon my head. A small sidestep was all that it took to avoid the blow, but I added a quick counter strike to his face before stepping away. As he came again I pivoted on my heel and ducked under the whistling blade, driving my blade into the joint of his hip. I missed by a fraction, but it still had close enough the desired effect.  
  
Howling in pain Cyclos stumbled backwards even as his leg buckled and started to give out, but not before he dropped the sword and caught my neck in a death grip. Choking, I started to raise my sword for a would-be killing blow to the throat, but there was no need. Cyclos lurched forward, and for a moment we both stared dumbly at the pike head protruding from his chest. Then with a gurgling sigh he keeled over backwards, snapping off the haft of the spear sticking out of his back as he fell.  
  
Peeling away the dead man's fingers from my windpipe, I rose somewhat unsteadily to my feet. Down the road the dropped torch was beginning to gutter out; retrieving it, I swung it around in the air a few times until it had flared back into life. It did little for illumination, but at least I could see clearly what was around me. Stepping carefully over the bodies of the fallen, I crouched next to Zion who had sunk back to the ground, still clutching the haft of the pike. Sticking the brand into the ground so that my hands were free, I began to rummage through my coat pockets. "You're a mess, no mistake."  
  
It was the truth. Pike slashes crisscrossed his body, both deep and shallow alike and it looked to me as though Cyclos had managed to get in a few good blows to his right side before his club was ruined. Zion's arm hung on an unnatural angle probably broken in one or two places and covered almost entirely with a large bruise that was already turning an ugly deep purple color. Finding the healing potion I had been looking for I started to pour it over his arm, watching critically until it started to mend before moving on. Zion watched blearily as I tended to the pike wounds, going through the remainder of the first bottle and a second one as well. Finally, when the bones of his arm had finished knitting together and the gashes had sealed, he voiced the question that undoubtedly had been on his mind the whole time.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
I hesitated before answering. "Call me a fan, of sorts. Name's Ry."  
  
"Ry, huh? Well, I owe you one." Getting to his feet, he flexed his arm experimentally before picking up his sword from where it lay on the ground. Frowning at the bloody blade, he wiped it clean on Cyclos' shirt. "If I had been thinking, I would have realized that this idiot would probably be waiting for me somewhere along the road." Sheathing his sword, he glanced suspiciously at me. "Any particular reason why you were following me? Don't deny it; I'm positive that I saw you at least twice coming out of the city."  
  
"I should have known that you would. I didn't have the money to stay in an inn tonight, but I stayed in town to watch the competition anyway. I'm heading up to the mountains by a route a little to the east of here." I shrugged, trying to put on an innocent face. "I just happened to run into you, that's all."  
  
I wasn't sure how convinced the man was, but I got to my feet and pulled the torch out of the ground. Ever since the clamor from the fight had died down I had been hearing animals in the woods nearby; sure enough, several horses had been tethered to the trunks of trees nearby. This must have been how the ambushers had been able to get so far ahead of Zion without him noticing. Choosing one particularly large animal out of the six that I suspected had belonged to Cyclos; I checked the saddle girth and readjusted the stirrups. I would be able to reach Vista much faster on horseback. Untying the reins, I led him out onto the road where Zion was waiting. "They have some horses back there in the trees," I told him, handing over the torch. "If you still don't want to go back to Lohan, you could probably be in Kazas by noon tomorrow if you ride hard." Slipping one foot into the stirrup, I bounced around for a moment on the ball of my other foot before managing to lever myself up into the saddle. The horse seemed even larger once I was on his back, if possible. I hoped that his size was of some indication of his endurance; if it were, he could probably run all day without tiring overmuch.  
  
Zion nodded his thanks and started back into the trees. Turning my mount around, I glanced down at the side of my jacket. In spite of having being wrapped in a thick cloth and being stored in an interior pocket, the spirit was still flaring so brightly it was a wonder that Zion hadn't noticed it. Heeling the horse into a trot, I moved out of the trees and back onto the grasslands where I allowed the animal to move into a lumbering canter. /It's him/ I said needlessly.  
  
//Without a doubt//  
  
/So what now?/  
  
//We go after Ayrel// He said simply. //If we fail this time, then we can track him down again and find out a little bit more about him//  
  
/Dragoons are supposed to appear when the world's facing a crisis, right? So why didn't the spirits start reacting to people sixteen years ago?/  
  
//How am I supposed to know?// Ark asked impatiently. //Do I look like the creator?//  
  
/No, you just act like it/ Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, I concentrated on the ride ahead. Whatever this impending crisis was, it would become all to clear soon enough.  
  
  
  
Shade: **tug-o-warring with Dart over a box of incense matches**  
  
Another chapter over with. And moderately on time too! **victory dances** 


	32. Vista

Shade: **drinking raspberry tea, munching on cheese and listening to the Two Towers soundtrack while typing furiously**  
  
Whoa. Rapid fire updates. Well, what with all of my friends seemingly disappearing up to New Brunswick for camps, there's not much else to do around here save playstation (Ursula bad! Shade smash!) and writing. And drawing, I suppose, but I'm in a creative rut at the moment. So, yea! Look at me type! **tappitytappitytappitytap**  
  
  
  
Zion's POV:  
  
The night faded into the gray pre-dawn, the bellies of the clouds on the horizon tainted rose-orange with the impending sunrise. Not that the sun would show its face, of course. Overnight, clouds had rolled in from the ocean to the west to cover the sky as far as the eye could see. The sky hung heavy with the woolly things; they rode sullenly on the gusting winds that swept the forest below, setting the branches and leaves of the trees to shaking and swaying. The wind carried the scent of rain and lightening, a grim forerunner for the storm that was to come.  
  
Sitting atop my tired mount, I did my best to ignore the wind. Storms like the one impending were uncommon in the middle of summer, but not unheard of. Pulling up the hood of my cloak, it was immediately blown off of my head and hung uselessly down my back. I didn't bother to replace it; I had found the cloak stored in the saddlebags of the animal the night before and had put it on to ward off the sudden chill that seemed to seep into the forest around one or two in the morning. It was an ill fit, but then again most garments that aren't my own are. When you stand some three or four inches over six feet, you just have to put up with that sort of thing.  
  
My horse shifted nervously as the wind buffeted its side, and I placed a hand on its neck to quiet it. We stood on a hilltop near the edge of the forest, although the rocky surface of this caused it to be devoid of all but the most scraggily of trees. About a mile of narrow road was visible from here, winding slowly back through the forest. It was this that I watched now, straining my eyes to see through the waving tree branches. Aside from the odd animal and the waving leaves on the trees, nothing moved. Turning my animal around, I started down the far side of the hill at a lumbering walk. If that man had decided to follow me through the woods, I would have seen him by now for sure. Maybe he hadn't been after my gold last night after all.  
  
But then why had he been following me last night? He hadn't been with Cyclos, of that much I was sure. Ry. That had been his name. At least, that had been the name that he had given. Too many people coming out of Lohan these days gave false aliases. I shook my head and pushed the horse into a jolting trot. Whatever his motive had been, he was gone now.  
  
I rode for another six hours or so, alternating between a ground eating trot and an ambling walk that allowed both the horse and myself a bit of a rest. I hadn't slept in twenty four hours or more, and after all of yesterdays fighting I felt as though I had been bundled up in a sack and rolled down a rocky hill a couple of times. The wounds had healed, of course, but potions don't do anything to replace lost energy. When I finally rode out of the forest and onto the fields of tilled earth that surround the city Kazas it was becoming an effort not to sway in the saddle. The clouds could hold their burden no longer and it began to rain; only a light mist at first, but before I had come halfway across the fields it had become a steady downpour. I may as well have not been wearing the cloak, as the cloth was soaked through within moments. Grumbling halfheartedly about poorly oiled cloth, I rode slouched in the saddle as we ambled past a large pond; a hissing sound filled the air as the rain from the storm pelted the dimpled surface. The road, which had been hard packed dirt and stone when I had left the city a week before, was quickly turning to mud under my horse's feet. Thunder rumbled sullenly in the distance, and the sky flickered momentarily as lightning danced above the slate-colored clouds.  
  
All in all, it was a rather depressing reception for the home coming champion.  
  
Not that anyone would see me that way. The city walls loomed up ahead of me; turning to the right I rode parallel to them until I came to the gates. Massive, twenty foot tall pieces of solid ironwork, the gates of Kazas are an imposing sight even when they are opened in welcome. Two sets of guards stood on either side of the gate; on one side, men girded in the chain mail coats of the city guard, on the other side stood four dread knights. The city guardsmen watched the dread knights warily, but for the most part the knights largely ignored them. As I approached, their attention was riveted on me. More than one of them reached for his sword as I passed, but at a stern order from their captain their hands snapped away as soon as their fingers brushed the hilt. Instead they eyed me grimly as I rode by; their dark glares shouting their hate louder than words ever could. The offense of attacking a priest was not easily forgotten.  
  
I didn't realize that I had been holding my breath until I was among the buildings fifty feet from the gate. Cursing, I jerked the right rein, steering the horse irritably down a narrow road between two merchants houses. "Idiot. If they were going to kill you, they would have done it years ago in a public execution." Taking several more turns I made my way deeper into the city, the buildings around me getting steadily shabbier as I went. The buildings here were no smaller than those just inside the city gates, but they had a definite air of shabbiness bout them. Windows were covered with oiled paper rather than paned glass; here and there large chunks of plaster siding had crumbled away to reveal rotting wooden beams underneath. Halting finally, I dismounted in front of a rundown stable. A dirty, barefooted stable boy with jug ears came running out to take the reins of my animal, looking disappointed when I didn't give him a coin, but relieved that I didn't kick him instead. Before I could hurry off another, older boy came out, this time holding out a small iron chest. Digging into my pocket I found a couple of coins and dropped then through the narrow slot at the top of the box. The lad bowed his head slightly, then led me into the stable.  
  
Three or four animals were tethered in stalls inside, looking well kept in spite of the living conditions. The air was filled with a musty smell from the old straw that had been scattered over the hard earth floor in attempt to ward off some of the damp. The jug eared boy appeared out of the farthest stall where I assumed my animal was to be kept, loaded down with heavy leather tack. Maybe I should have left him a tip after all. But before I could pursue the thought my guide opened a small door at the back of the stable and hustled me out into the soggy courtyard beyond. He didn't follow: the moment I had stepped out from under the roof the door slammed shut behind me.  
  
There was a tavern on the far side of the courtyard, its dingy windows glowing invitingly, but I passed by it and slipped into the alley along the side of the building that would take me out onto the street. My sword made it a difficult fit; I had to turn sideways and sidle through the gap until I emerged out onto the street on the other side. Hurrying across the road with my sopping cloak flapping in the wind, I ducked into the doorframe of a low slate roofed house and rapped hard on the door. There was a shout from somewhere inside, followed by the sound of footsteps. The latch rattled and then the door opened a crack.  
  
"Zion Damnen." A gruff female voice barked.  
  
"I'm baa-ck." I put on as best a grin as I could manage. "Would you mind letting me in?"  
  
"You up and left last week without telling a soul. Give me one good reason why I should."  
  
"Because if you don't I'm going to sit under Tabby's window and howl like a wolf all night long."  
  
The door opened grudgingly, and I stepped inside. Shedding my cloak, I wrung it out over the doorstep before dropping it into a pile on the floor. Shaking her head, the woman who had spoken waddled over and picked it up, hanging it on a nail next to the door. More than just plump, Remmy was a short woman with a round face and little, birdlike brown eyes. Plucking at the bun nestled at the nape of her neck with one hand, she pounded me heartily on the back in spite of her initial greeting. "It's nice to see you back, Zion. I was starting to wonder if you hadn't left for good this time."  
  
"Why would I? All my stuff's here anyway. Oh, speaking of which-" I pulled a small leather purse from the satchel hanging from my belt and tossed it to her-"There's payment for last month's board."  
  
Snagging it out of the air, the purse disappeared into the folds of her woolen dress. "Thank you." She froze suddenly, as though seeing me for the first time. With an inward groan I started to retreat down the hallway, but before I had gone two steps she had seized me by the arm and spun me back around to face her. She fingered my shirt, not missing the bloodstained rents in the arms and chest. "You've been fighting again," She said accusingly.  
  
"Well-"  
  
"I thought that you said that you'd given up on prize fighting!"  
  
"I didn't get these prize fighting! These came after, while I was coming back-"  
  
"After?" Her voice was sharp. She glared at me, suddenly looking much, much taller than I knew she really was. After what seemed an interminable silence, she released her grip on my arm and pushed me into the kitchen. Pointing to a stool, she bustled over to where a kettle was heating in the coals on the hearth. "Sit. And take off that shirt; I want to take a look at those wounds."  
  
I shook my head, not bothering to tell her that I'd already been treated. But I obeyed anyway, setting my sword in a corner and tossing my ruined shirt on top of it. Setting a plate of porridge on the table in front of me, Remmy forced me into a chair and started to examine the thin scars crisscrossing my arms and back while I dug in. Answering her questions and relating what had happened in between bites, I forgot to mention to her for once that I really didn't like raisin porridge. Soon I was swaying back and forth in my seat; now that I was starting to dry and I had food in my stomach, all of the exhaustion of the past two days rushed to catch up with me.  
  
Finally Remmy stood back from her inspection, apparently satisfied. "Well, you're luck. It seems that that Ry fellow had an idea of what he was supposed to be doing. Those scars will probably be gone in a month or two, if you're lucky. Tabby, what are you doing?"  
  
I turned on my stool in time to see the little girl toddle into the kitchen, trailing a battered looking rag doll on the floor behind her. With her dark curly hair and pink little cheeks, Remmy's daughter looked a great deal like a doll herself. Without replying to her mother, she came to my side and poked me lightly in the ribs with one pink little finger. "Zion late."  
  
Sticking my tongue out at her, I poked her lightly in the nose. "Yeah, Zion late." I pushed my bowl away and got to my feet. "Well, I'm going to bed. Throw something at me if you need anyone beat up, okay?"  
  
My room was in the basement of the house, a dirt cellar that had apparently been a part of a fort when the city was young. There was little left to show for it aside from a few rotting beams protruding from the floor, but it wouldn't surprise me if it were true. Climbing down the wooden ladder, I sighed as I landed. There's always a certain satisfaction that comes with returning home for me, poor as it may be. A rickety table occupied the center of the room, a map and a dice cup resting atop it. A pile of clean clothes lay at the foot of my cot, shoved in the far corner of the little room. Drawing my sword from its sheath, I hung the sheath on its hook on the wall and set the blade on the table. Pulling an oily rag and a whetstone out of my bag, I set them next to the blade; the heavy canvas sack joined a pile of other assorted objects in another corner. I'd have to polish and whet the nicks out of my blade later, when I could see straight.  
  
Kicking off my boots, I flopped down onto my cot and closed my eyes. At least Remmy had had the sense not to try to tidy my room while I was out. She was a good person, but she enjoyed mothering me too much. Under other circumstances I might have left the town entirely, were it not for Remmy and her daughter. She and her husband had taken me in after my run in with the cult, when no one else would. Even after my face had healed, she had allowed me to stay as a boarder. So when her husband died, leaving her alone with three month old Tabby, the least that I could do to repay her was to stay around and help her by bringing in money. I admit that was difficult; it's tough to earn money in a city where no one will hire you. And so quite by accident, I found myself entering competitions across Serdio as a prizefighter. Remmy wasn't very impressed by this, but I did my best to ignore her on matters like this. The last thing that I needed was another mother.  
  
The thunder was over the city now, loud even in the cellar. Feeling the earth tremble as one particularly large crash shook the house above, I grabbed a blanket and pulled it over my head. Damn, I was tired. Now if only I could get to sleep.  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
Dart pulled his mount up short and dismounted. /I don't think there's any sense in riding past here. The roads leading up towards the shrine are usually watched in any case/ Leading the animal back off the road into a clearing, he drove a peg into the ground and attached a tether to the horse's bridle. Fastening it tightly to the peg, he loosened the saddle girth before returning to the road. /Should we fly in or go on foot?/  
  
//Vista will probably be right up on the mountain's peak// I replied slowly, working the strategy over in my mind. //Or close to it. Its probably sitting in low clouds at the moment, or very close to it. If you were to conceal yourself in the clouds and land further up the peak than the village, you could come at it on foot from above without being noticed until its too late//  
  
Dart glanced up at the heavy grey clouds overhead. /I'm going to get soaked flying through that, you realize/  
  
//We all have to make sacrifices// I reminded him philosophically.  
  
Philosophical or not, it did little to quiet his mutterings when we broke through the top of the clouds several minutes later. Fanning his wings in attempt to shake off some of the moisture dripping off the spines of the long pinions, he made a noise of disgust as most of it settled into his hair. /Ark, I hate you, you know that?/ He glanced down at the cannon fixed to his left arm, not missing the water running in a little stream off of the forked end. /I look like the waterspout from hell/  
  
Above the clouds the sun was just beginning to rise, turning the sky and the tops of the clouds a faint blushing pink-orange. Other thinner clouds drifted on currents in the upper reaches of the atmosphere, spread far and few between. It was an odd sight; thick clouds below and thin clouds above with nothing in between aside from a dragoon and hundreds of feet of air. Thunder rumbled ominously from the clouds underneath, and the thin air seemed almost to vibrate in the wake of the sound. //We had better get moving, Dart//  
  
/Where about do you think the peak is?/ Dart asked, turning a slow circle.  
  
//I'll know when I see it. Here, let me try// Brushing his mind aside, I took control and started to fly slowly in the direction of the rising sun, watching the clouds below us carefully. Thousands of years of experience living in the mountainous reaches of the continent had taught me to read the minute signs on the surface of the clouds to tell me what was beneath. The wind flows differently in accordance to the landmasses below, and it shows through the swirls in the cloud's surface. As I angled slightly higher to get a better look, a patch of erratically swirling cloud caught my attention. //There we go// Flipping over, I stooped into a shallow dive that brought us angling slowly through the cloud cover.  
  
For the next few minutes we flew in silence. Travelling through cloud and emerging through the bottom without anyone from the village seeing us was going to require a substantial amount of luck even with my skill, and I wanted to leave as little to luck as possible.  
  
Luck or skill, whichever the reason, we managed to make our landing on the eastern side of the summit three or four miles from the village outskirts. Swapping places with Dart again, I kept a watch as he made his way through the overgrown forest. It was raining lightly now, but only a few droplets made their way down through the canopy. Jumping into a partially dried up streambed Dart jogged along, his feet slipping every so often on the wet stones. /I can probably make it there in about an hour and a half. Maybe less if the forest isn't so overgrown further on/ Ducking under a branch, he continued on. /How do you want to do this?/  
  
If I had my way, we would level the village with one shot before we got close enough for the winglies to notice. I had suggested as such before with other children, and both times Dart had rejected it almost as soon as he heard the words. This time however, he met the suggestion with silence. Not the stony silence that he usually met these ideas with, but considering. It was a measure of how serious matters had become in his mind that he was even thinking about it now. He was willing to kill Ayrel, and Asalla and Mathis too, if it came down to it, but an entire village? I waited expectantly while he sorted through the welter of confused emotions running through his mind.  
  
/If we try to slip into the village and take her by stealth, Asalla will probably sense us before we get too close, won't she?/ He said slowly, the words sounding forced.  
  
//Probably//  
  
/And we'll have to track her down all over again/ He pushed a clump of wet hair back out of his face irritably. /But if we take out the whole village, then a lot of innocent people are going to die/  
  
//Yes. And Ayrel with them. Which will probably save countless more lives in the long run//  
  
Dart snarled aloud and threw a vicious kick at a rotten tree stump next to the stream bank, but I knew he had made his decision. Continuing along the streambed he said nothing, his mood growing so dark that if it became any more pronounced I could probably have cut it with a knife. The light rain intensified into a steady downpour, and thunder began to roll in the skies overhead as we made our way down the side of the mountain. Slipping and sliding down one slope covered with moss and old leaves, Dart stumbled out onto a rocky plateau that was maybe thirty feet wide and twice that across. A hundred feet below, in a shallow valley carved out between two of the mountain's peaks, was a cluster of small buildings surrounded by rings of what looked like tree stumps. Dart took one quick look before pulling back from the edge to the trees. /That must be Vista, then/ He said, voice heavy.  
  
//Now Dart. Before anyone decides to get smart on us//  
  
My partner said nothing, but I felt him reaching for his connection with the spirit lodged in his chest. A moment later it flared into life; reaching for my own link to the stone I did my best to moderate the glow that usually accompanied the appearance of the armor. It took a bit longer, with the armor shimmering and consolidating in pieces, but it cut down on the chances that anyone in the village below would notice anything strange. Cocking the cannon almost as soon as the transformation was completed, he began drawing energy into it and stepped up to the edge of the plateau. Taking careful aim, the cannon whined as the built up energy reached its maximum. /Let's get this over with, then/ Jerking his head away at the last instant, he fired.  
  
The concussion from the blast drowned out even the thunder overhead; the mountains for miles around rang endlessly with the sound. The shock wave forced us back from the edge, Dart shielding his eyes from the explosion as he stumbled backwards towards the madly swaying trees. When the light following the explosion had dimmed and the gusts of hot air from the shock waves had ceased, Dart leapt back into the air to survey the damage.  
  
There wasn't a whole lot to look at aside from the large smoking crater in the ground where Vista had stood moments before. A few houses on the very outskirts of the village had survived the worst of it and were still standing, although the roof of one was slowly caving in and the other two surviving homes were in flames. Smoke was curling slowly into the air, only to be dampened down again by the falling rain. Descending with slow wing beats to the blasted earth, Dart landed carefully on the lip of the crater. /I guess that's it/ He said bleakly.  
  
As we watched, a few people stumbled out of the burning houses, coughing and reeling from the inhaled smoke. Another family crawled out of the third house, watching the bulging roof and walls fearfully. I felt a surge of annoyance. What if Ayrel had been in one of those buildings?  
  
With a sigh, Dart let the armor dissolve and turned to go. And stopped short with a jerk.  
  
"Well, Dart, I'm surprised. Aren't you going to kill them too?" Ayrel asked, her mouth twisting slightly as she spoke. "Or are you just going to let them suffer a little while longer?"  
  
Dart's hand brushed his sword hilt. "Ayrel. I'm surprised that you aren't running. You do so seem to enjoy doing that."  
  
The Moon Child laughed and mimicked him, caressing the basket hilt of the saber hanging at her waist. She stood more than six paces away from us, but her silver eyes couldn't have been more threatening if we had stood nose to nose. "Oh no Dart. There will be no more running for me, or my family. Not now, not ever." She drew the saber from its sheath and stepped into a wide stance in one smooth movement, the narrow blade of the weapon held on a slight angle in front of her. "No. You will be the one to run."  
  
There was the rasp drawn steel and Dart lunged forward, his sword flickering in front of him like the tongue of a serpent. The movement was delivered in the blink of an eye, yet Ayrel managed to turn the heavier blade aside, allowing it to slide down the length of her own until they stood eye to eye with their hilts locked. The remained like that for a moment, silver eyes glaring into cold blue, before whirling away and lunging at one another again.  
  
By all rights, Dart should have had the upper hand in the encounter, and at first it appeared that he did. With the sword moving so fast in his hands that it appeared to be a blur he flashed from one attack to the next, the skills of nearly a thousand years experience shown clearly with every strike. And yet Ayrel managed to block or dodge each one as it came, her face a mask of concentration as she fought.  
  
//What are you doing, Dart?// I snapped. //Quit fooling around and finish her off!//  
  
/I'm trying/ Dart grunted. /But it's like she's reading my moves, or something. She-rrhh!/  
  
Ayrel stepped back, grinning through gasping breaths. Her saber was stained red where she had managed to slash Dart's side; she ran a finger along the flat of the blade and drew it back, making a show of examining the blood smeared over it. "So you do bleed. Amazing. And here I thought that the Black Monster was supposed to be some sort of invincible demon." Licking the blood from her finger, she smiled predatorily. "I suppose that even demons will bleed." And lifting her saber again she took up a stance that I knew far to well, feet spread and her narrow saber held to her shoulder. "I think I got just about everything I needed out of that little rout. Now let's see how much you enjoy being the one on the receiving end of my blade." She lunged forward, narrow blade flickering in front of her like the tongue of a serpent.  
  
Now it was Dart who was hard pressed to keep her blade from him. Sweat and rain pouring down his face as his sword became a whirlwind before him, trying to overwhelm the wingly and gain the upper hand again, but it seemed fruitless. Ayrel managed to stay one step ahead of him, her thinner, lighter blade giving her the advantage of speed. Dart cursed as he was forced to throw himself sideways to avoid one particularly nasty slash. Countering hurriedly, he managed to score a light gash across her shoulder. /She's using my own moves against me/ He growled, following up on the counter with a series of quick slashes designed to cut the legs out from underneath the opponent. All of which were blocked. /It sounds impossible, but it's as though she learned them just by seeing me use them!/  
  
A faint memory tugged at the back of my mind. //It may not be as impossible as it sounds. That was an old gift among winglies some thirteen thousand years ago, but I had thought it faded out. It was rare, even then though//  
  
/Yeah, well she seems to be everything that was supposed to have faded out from the wingly race/ Turning aside a thrust to the chest, Dart twisted to avoid a kick to his stomach. Blocking three more strikes, he ended with his weight on his back leg. Driving forward the same moment Ayrel thrust, he slashed downward as he shot past, shearing the blade of the saber off close to the hilt. I felt a surge of triumph as he pivoted, and passed his blade from the right hand to the left, preparing to drive his blade into her body right up to the hilt. And yet out of the corner of his eye I saw a blur of movement as Ayrel spun to face him-  
  
-And pain exploded in my mind and spirit, nearly shocking me senseless. Dart reeled away howling as his blade fell from his nerveless grasp, blood pouring from his left shoulder. Stumbling to his knees as the shock of pain cleared from my mind, he clasped his right hand tightly to his wounded shoulder, then let go reflexively as a spasm of pain shot through his body. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of burnt flesh and blood, mingled with the smoke still rising off of the burning homes.  
  
Ayrel stood back, passing the dragon buster from one hand to the other. "You felt that one, didn't you? Mother was right; having that dragon inside you seems to have amplified the effect of the blade's magic." She looked fondly at the flickering weapon in her hand. "It really is quite beautiful, you know? Oh put that down; do you really expect it to do you any good now?" She asked amusedly as Dart, gritting his teeth, reached out and grabbed the hilt of his sword. Ignoring her, he slipped it back into its sheath.  
  
//Dart, transform and get out of here. If we stay, we're done for//  
  
With a groan Dart lurched to his feet, cradling his useless arm against his side. Breathing haggardly, he glared at Ayrel as I felt him reach for his link to my spirit.  
  
Ayrel didn't seem to notice. "You put up a good fight. I have to thank you; I've never seen a fighting style like yours before. Don't worry, I'll put it to good use." Raising the weapon, she readied herself for the killing blow. "Good-bye, Dart."  
  
I felt a huge surge run through the spirit as it activated in a flash of blinding light. The transformation was so swift that we were in the air and blasting towards the clouds before the light had subsided completely. Good- bye indeed. To Ayrel, it probably seemed that we had disappeared into thin air.  
  
Streaking along just above the clouds, Dart gradually slowed his pace. /We need to get back to the horse/ He told me. /I saw a potion in the saddlebag earlier/ His thoughts sounded slightly strained. From the pain in his arm, I surmised.  
  
//All right. Let me take over; I can find it faster than you can// Taking control, I tried to keep my mind separate from the pain in his shoulder. It wasn't easy, but I managed to keep it down to a dull pain just outside of my senses. Dropping below the clouds again, I took my bearings and started in the direction of a large lake that I remembered having seen on the way up. //We'll get you patched up, then head for Kazas on horseback//  
  
Ayrel's POV:  
  
I took one last look at the bloodstained patch on the ground before turning away. Stupid of me; I should have realized that he'd take the opportunity to transform, wounded or no. Thumbing off the Dragon Buster, I headed back to the edge of the trees where Mother and Father were waiting. "You see, I told you that he'd show." I called as I drew closer.  
  
Father shook his head, apparently caught in between concern for me and frustration at Dart's escape. "But he escaped. You shouldn't have wasted time talking like that, Ayrel. Dead men need no explanations."  
  
I shrugged and slipped the hilt of the Dragon Buster back inside the folds of my coat. "I know that now. Next time, I won't wait."  
  
"He'll be ready for you next time," Mother said as she slipped out of the shadows next to Father. "He seldom makes the same mistake twice." A note of worry crept into her voice as she spoke, and she smoothed her black silk skirt nervously. "You would be best to take him now, while he is injured. He can't have gone far."  
  
I shook my head. "He'll be back again, don't worry. I'll get him then." This was the partial truth; really, what fun was there in hunting injured game? He was running now, but he'd be back sooner or later anyway. It would be more fun to pull him down then, after he'd had some time to prepare. "In the meantime, let's go to Bale. The more we spread word about what happened here, the more difficult it will be for him to move about undetected."  
  
Father nodded his head thoughtfully, but Mother motioned to the small group of people huddling fearfully near the burning houses. "And what will you do about them? They need aid."  
  
I sighed and started towards them. "I guess we could drop them off in Lohan or something. Father, will you go ahead to Bale and inform the High Priest that I'll be arriving shortly? He's a dear old man, but he almost had a heart attack when we just showed up in his hall without warning."  
  
Father nodded and disappeared in a flash of green light. Mother walked sedately beside me, whatever had been troubling her apparently gone. Nothing ever seemed to faze her for long. I spared one last glance at the crater before turning my attention to the survivors. So he wanted me dead that badly, huh? I smiled inwardly. This game could turn out even more excited than I had expected.  
  
  
  
Shade: **blinks** Ayrel scares me. She scares me very much. I think I'm going to go Ayrel-hunting with me mallet. 


	33. Errands

Why is Ayrel more powerful than Shana? Well, it does have something to do in part with the fact that she's a wingly, but also, when you think about it Shana never made an attempt to consciously use her powers. Everything just happened spontaneously, and uncontrolled. Shana might have been quite powerful- if she'd ever bothered to sit down and figure out how to use them properly. Since Ayrel's had the fact that she's the Moon Child waved in her face since she was born, she's come to embrace the facts and is able to say, "Hey, guess what! I'm a goddess! Fear and revere me!"  
  
  
  
Zion's POV:  
  
I slept for most of the rest of the day and the entire night, waking only long enough to go upstairs for a meal before retreating back under the sheets of my bed. Tabby followed me around like a little rosy-cheeked puppy whenever I rose, trailing her rag doll along behind her by one arm. I think that she was afraid that I would run off again when her back was turned, poor thing. Climbing up onto a chair beside me while I ate, she watched me closely, scolding me in a mock-motherly tone when I didn't chew each bite fifteen times before swallowing. Once I was finished eating I was herded back down the hall, Tabby poking me in the side with a pudgy little finger whenever I pretended to stop or turn around, to the hatch that led down to my room. After assuring the little girl three or four times that I was much too tired to go running around Serdio tonight I climbed back down the ladder and flopped back onto the cot.  
  
My sleep that night was a restless one. Tossing and muttering, I was kept awake until well after midnight by the thunder rolling overhead and the wind shrieking through the streets. The storm was a slow moving one, but a storm in every sense of the word. 'Hurricane' was probably a better way to describe it. Rolling over onto my stomach, I buried my head underneath a pillow. There'd be repairs to do on the roof tomorrow for sure. When sleep finally did come it was punctuated with odd dreams about prizefighting where I was pitted against impossible opponents; armed only with my fists and a ball of incandescent fire that burned me more often than it burned the enemy.  
  
When I woke the next morning I was sandy-eyed and none too refreshed, but at least most of my exhaustion was gone. Lighting the lamp, I sat on the edge of my cot rubbing my eyes and trying to bring the room into focus. The fat tallow candle guttered inside its glass flue, its feeble light not reaching the shadows in the other corners of the room. From somewhere in the city above I could hear the temple bells tolling the seventh hour, their mournful tones reminding me of funeral bells. Without thinking my fingers went to the scars that marred the left side of my face. Funeral bells. How fitting.  
  
I spent the next hour or so whetting and polishing the nicks and scars out of my sword blade. There were a great many; almost too much for comfort. Picking up an oily cloth, I frowned at the red marks staining the blood channel that ran three quarters the length of the blade and set to work. This sword had lasted me six years and counting: a rare stretch of time for any weapon. It had been a good-bye gift from my brother before he had left on one of the temple's ill-fated crusades into the forgotten lands to the far east.  
  
I reversed the sword and examined the hard brown leather strapping on the hilt. It was beginning to wear through; here and there the leather was chafed so thin that grooves appeared to have been worn into the hilt. I would have to ask Remmy if she would replace it.  
  
The few soldiers that had returned from the campaigns told wide-eyed stories of dragons descending upon the temple's army from the skies in a bath of blood and fire. The elements themselves had been torn apart in the slaughter; the ground breaking asunder and exploding from underneath their feet; floods breaking loose without warning and drowning the steel armored dread knights as they retreated. But then again, you can never fully trust the stories of survivors. Everything always manages to become blown out of proportion. I mean, dragons? Seriously.  
  
Remmy was waiting for me in the kitchen when I went upstairs, hanging a pot of broth on one of the iron hooks that swung out over the fire. As I came into the kitchen she turned around, wiping her hands on an already floury apron. "There you are, Zion. I was just about to come down and wake you up for breakfast." She bustled over to the scrubbed wooden table, ladling some porridge into a blue-rimmed pottery bowl. "Go on, eat up. I was already out to the market this morning, but I want you to pick up some beef from the butchers for me. And I'm starting to run a bit low on flour again. Oh, and while you're at it-"  
  
Picking a stray raisin out of my porridge, I flicked it away, idly wondering what the woman had picked up at the market this morning. Very little, by the sound of it. Or at least, nothing heavy. Beef, flour, salt, potatoes, oh, and if she was going to repair my sword hilt later on she was going to need some leather. The list went on. With her words still rattling around in my head, I strapped my sword across my back and headed out into the street.  
  
The streets were ankle deep mud, mixed with deep puddles the size of small ponds. Cutting through the alley next to the tavern, I retraced my route from yesterday back to the stables. There was no way I was about to carry eighty pounds of foodstuff and my sword through this cesspool. I suppose that I could have left my blade at home, but I had suspicions about what an off-duty dread knight might try to do if he caught me alone in the streets unarmed.  
  
Reaching the stable, I hammered on the back door until it was answered by one of the stable boys. The far section of the stable appeared to have been flooded in the storm; most of the animals had been moved to higher, dryer stalls. Taking my horse from his stall and throwing on his tack, I led him out onto the soupy street a few minutes later. Swinging up into the high cantled saddle, I picked up the reins and started off through the maze of back streets and alleys towards the market on the main street.  
  
A light drizzle was falling from the leaden skies but a handful of people still hustled from shop to shop, ignoring the rain. They walked quickly with their cloaks pulled tightly around them, carrying bags or baskets full of their goods. Here and there the city guardsmen stood watch, some chatting good-naturedly with gloomy street vendors. Others regarded the foreign men and woman hawking their goods with suspicion. One guard didn't bother to hide his suspicion; seated on a barrel across the street from one such vendor, he caressed his spear as he watched. The man running the booth did his best to avoid looking at the guard, but his movements were jerky and nervous.  
  
I shook my head as I rode past. The man had shock white hair and pale blue eyes: a half-wingly, most likely. In the northern countries relations are comfortable between humans and winglies, but the idea had never seemed to catch hold here in Kazas. Save for the Moon Child and her family, most winglies were held in suspicion. Half bloods had it worse, because no one could ever be sure where their loyalties lie. Or what they were capable of. I had never believed in this myself, but the general attitude of the city was as such. Feeling the gaze of one of the guardsmen on me, I moved on quickly.  
  
The butcher's was a blocky two story building on a street corner, its whitewashed stone walls splattered with mud. A brightly painted wooden sign hung over the doorway stating the owner's name and the date of establishment underneath a picture of a butchering knife. It swung back and forth slightly now, buffered by the occasional gusts of wind that came whistling down the street and over the rooftops. Dismounting, I tethered my horse to one of the wooden hitching posts outside and stepped onto the doorstep. Squeezing the rusty latch, I pushed the heavy oaken door open and went inside.  
  
The man standing behind the counter looked up as I entered. "Ah, Zion. Haven't seen you through here lately." Tall and balding with shoulders like a blacksmith, Gil Haberman looked better suited to wrestling with bulls than butchering them. "What have you been up to?"  
  
"Been out of town chasing prizes again." I shrugged; examining the slabs and sides of meat hung from the ceiling on iron hooks. "I didn't miss anything while I was gone, did I?"  
  
Wiping his hands on his stained apron, Gil hooked his thumbs into his belt. "A couple of brawls in that tavern across from Remmy's. Don't worry," He told me as I started to open my mouth, "No one even came near the place. I don't think they wanted to chance the fact that you might have been home."  
  
I grunted and rubbed my eyes. "Just as well. You wouldn't happen to have a side of beef in the cold room, would you?"  
  
While Gil went to check, I slumped down into a wooden chair pushed against the far wall and closed my eyes. I opened them again almost immediately as two woman dressed in the livery of temple servants entered the room, letting in a blast of chilly air as the door opened and closed. They were deep in conversation, and didn't appear to notice my presence.  
  
"The pigeon came in this morning just as the storm was beginning to ebb off. I'm amazed that little bird made it through in that gale."  
  
The second woman clicked her tongue. "Details, Alice. You've gone on and on about that message, but you haven't told me what it said yet. How did you chance to read it anyhow?"  
  
Alice waved her hand impatiently. "I was serving the high priest breakfast in his rooms when Wan brought the message. Apparently there was a little town up in the mountains attacked yesterday during the afternoon. It looks as though that demon was trying to kill the Holy Moon Child."  
  
The other woman's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, for the love of Soa! Is the Child all right? What happened?"  
  
"According to the message she's fine, but the village was destroyed. There's not much more than a crater left. A few survived, but they're in rough shape." Alice wiped her forehead. "Fortunately, the Holy Moon Child managed to drive the Monster off before he could do any more damage," she said her voice carrying a note of wonder.  
  
"What? What do you mean-" She cut off abruptly, staring at me as though seeing me for the first time. Her mouth snapped shut, and for a moment the two of them glowered at me as though I was a disgusting rodent before gathering their shawls about their shoulders and sweeping out the door.  
  
Gil came out of the cold room, heavy bladed knife in hand, just in time to see them leave. "What happened to them?"  
  
"They saw me." I replied sourly, getting up out of my chair. Why of all times did they have to notice me then, just when the news was getting interesting? Oh well, by afternoon the rumors would be flying around the town thicker than a flock of sparrows. I was bound to catch the rest of it sooner or later. "So, what about the beef?"  
  
The temple bells were tolling the eleventh hour I was making my way slowly back through the streets on foot, leading my horse. Remmy's groceries were tied tightly to the saddle, covered and protected from the drizzle by a heavy burlap tarp. Grumbling to myself about having to slog through the mud rather than ride, I pulled to one side as a carriage rattled by. People had finally begun to filter out of their homes and were going about their daily business. Vendors stumped about carrying their goods in trays handing from their shoulders, calling out their business in loud, hoarse voices. People bobbed in and out of buildings burdened down with bolts of cloth and baskets of fruit. I paid these shops no mind for the most part, but as I passed one particular squat stone building I stopped, suddenly very aware of the fact that I hadn't had a real drink in several days.  
  
I bit my lip, looking around. I couldn't exactly tie my horse to the hitching posts and go in for a drink now that I had loaded him with goods. And since I had been banned from The Cradle, the tavern near by Remmy's, for fighting, there was no where close to home where I could pick up a drink. Maybe if I could find a porter, then I could send the groceries back to the house and stay behind for a drink. That seemed to be the best course of action. Still holding the reins, I climbed onto the cement slab in front of the tavern and peered up and down the street, looking for a kid that might be willing to take on the job. People of every description milled about in the street, but very few children moved through the crowd. Starting to give up on the idea of a cold beer, I jumped back onto the muddy street and checked the girth of the saddle. Satisfied that it was secure, I glanced down the street once more.  
  
I almost didn't notice him at first, what with the crowd shifting constantly. But as I scanned the street more slowly, I picked out a man dressed in a long black coat talking to a man selling apples about a hundred feet back up the road. The merchant appeared to say something, then he gestured up the road in my direction. The second man turned and looked straight at me, meeting my gaze for a moment before turning away. Nodding his head, Ry passed something to the merchant and then disappeared into the crowd.  
  
Biting back an oath, I wrapped the reins around my fist and started to drag the horse down the street. So he had followed me here after all. Shouldering an old man to one side, I ignored his curses as I hurried past. I might be able to lose him in the back streets, but once I got out of the crowd I would loose my only cover. What did he want? If it was the winnings, why hadn't he taken them and left me for the dead two nights ago?  
  
Turning down first one side street and then another, I made my decision. I didn't really want to have to kill him; the temple had heavy penalties for anyone that they could connect to a murder, and no one would hesitate to put my head on the block. But if I could lure him into one of the alleys, I might be able to scare him off before he tried anything stupid. Risking a glance back over my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of a black amongst the thin trickle of people walking along the road. I smiled to myself; whoever he was, this Ry fellow wasn't very good at shadowing people. Turning down a narrow avenue I jerked on my horse's head, urging him into a shuffling trot. A grid of several narrow alleys, interconnected with one another, branched off the road; picking the closest one, I headed into the end of it. A second alley ran along the back of the buildings, creating a giant 'L' shape. Leading my horse out of sight around the bend, I tied him to an old crate before pulling my sword from its sheath and returning to the corner. Safely hidden from view, I waited.  
  
I wasn't kept waiting long. I had hardly been standing there for a minute before my ears caught the sound of footsteps coming down the alley. I shifted my grip on the hilt of my sword and rested it against my shoulder. I would have to be quick about this, to try to avoid an outcry; maybe if I could knock him out-  
  
Springing out around the corner, I swung down hard in an overhand blow with the flat of my blade rather than the edge. I'd used the same technique successfully countless times before; people aren't made to deal with a hundred and fifty or so pounds of force crashing down on their skulls. It probably would have worked to a similar effect in this situation as well- if the stroke had ever connected with its target.  
  
Steel grated against steel, and the next thing I knew I was pinned against the brick wall of the alley with the blade of my own sword pressed against my throat. A second blade carved with runes I didn't recognize grazed my cheek, trapping my blade with its hilt. Ry leaned his weight into his weapon, preventing me from moving.  
  
"What do you want?" I managed to rasp.  
  
"From you? Nothing." He replied calmly, easing the pressure on his blade slightly. "Not everyone's out to get you, you do realize."  
  
"Then why did you follow me?"  
  
"A couple of reasons. For now, let's just say that I'm acting as a courier."  
  
"What?"  
  
His hilt unlocked from mine and he took a step back, sheathing his sword as he did so. Lowering my own blade but not putting it away, I watched him warily. He looked a little worse for wear since I had last seen him -his left arm was bound up under his coat in a sling- but he paid it no mind. Instead he rifled around in his coat pocket for a moment before extracting what looked to me like a bundle of cloth. Holding it out to me in his good hand, he nodded his head toward it. "Go on, take it."  
  
I started to obey, then hesitated. "You said courier. Who's it from?"  
  
Instead of answering, he thrust it into my outstretched hand. It was surprisingly warm to the touch; almost hot, and there was something round and hard inside. He moved further away before I could force it back on him. "Whoever owned it before, it's yours now. That's all you need to know for the moment."  
  
After starring at him for a moment, I let my eyes drop to the bundle of rags. Leaning my sword against my shoulder, I fumbled with it, peeling away the layers of cloth and letting them fall to the ground. I'm not really sure what I had been expecting, but what I found nestled in the core of the rags caught my breath.  
  
It was a gemstone, but one unlike any that I had ever seen. In addition to being one of the largest jewels I had ever laid eyes on, it was perfectly round and smooth though it showed no signs of having been cut. If forced to put a name to it I would have said ruby, although it was a poor comparison. Most remarkable of all, a deep angry red colour radiated from the stone in a continuous glow that made my eyes ache to look directly at it. Blinking hard, I closed one fist around the stone and looked up. "Why-?" I trailed off.  
  
The alley was empty. Ry must have left while I was gawking at the jewel.  
  
Mumbling to myself, I stooped to pick up the rags from the ground and my sword fell into the mud with a splash. Irritably, I shoved the stone into a pocket and retrieved my mud-smeared blade from where it lay. With a grimace I shoved it back into the sheath hung across my shoulders. That would be a mess to clean up later on, but there was no help for it at the moment. Wiping my hands on the stained linen of my shirt, I returned to where my horse was tethered and untied the reins, my mind only half on my task.  
  
Why the hell would someone just hand over something of such worth? Maybe he had stolen it and just wanted to get it off his hands before its rightful owner caught up with him. Exiting the alleyway, I turned right and continued down the street. Remmy's wasn't too far away, but I was going to have to pass by The Blessing, an inn owned by the temple where the guardsmen hung out when they were off duty. Well, if he had stolen it then there wasn't much that I could do. Sell it, maybe, before anyone could come to claim it.  
  
The Blessing was a tall red brick building near the northern corner of the temple gardens. In good repair with glass paned windows, it would have stood out even if it looked no different from the shabbier houses flanking it on either side. No other inn in the city ever had guardsmen lounging about on benches outside under the shaded awnings. There were three or four of them outside right now, in spite of the early hour. By the shadows under their eyes and the black stubble that was beginning to form on their chins, they must have been a part of the last night's watch. Two of them sat at a small round table, bleary eyed over steaming mugs of mulled wine. The other two appeared to be more alert; only half in uniform, they leaned against the side of the inn whetting the heads of their spears on chunks of rough grey stone while they chatted in low voices.  
  
I kept my head down as I passed, with my horse between the inn and myself. Normally I avoided passing anywhere near temple property, but at the moment I didn't feel like spending an hour backtracking my way through town when I could be home in fifteen minutes. The men with the spears paused to watch as I walked past, but I forced myself to keep my pace steady. They would recognize me without a doubt, but I couldn't give them any reason to be suspicious. I raked one hand through my hair and kept moving, trying to quell the nervousness in my stomach. It wasn't that I was afraid of the guardsmen, exactly. Alone, they don't pose much of a threat to me. But if I was forced to even injure one, they'd exile me for good. Killing one would earn me a trip to the headsman's block, even if it was in defense.  
  
Luck was holding with me, it seemed, for the moment at least. No one made a move to follow, and I turned onto the next street with a sigh of relief. Whistling a little bit, I cast an eye at the clouds overhead. The rain and drizzle had stopped some time ago, but the last thing I needed was for it to start up again while my animal was loaded down with bags of flour and salt. Picking up my pace, I wove my way through the maze of streets back in the direction of home. I'd have to drop off the goods with Remmy first before I could return my mount to the stables, but maybe she'd have some of that soup she'd been making this morning ready by now. Yeah, soup was definitely sounding good just about now.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Sometime later that evening I sat on a padded horsehair stool in the corner of my room, watching as Remmy stripped the old covering off of my sword hilt and carefully redid the wrapping with the leather I had picked up that morning. Tabby sat on the edge of my cot, bouncing her knees up and down while we listened to Remmy's constant stream of chatter.  
  
"-So anyway, the temple is going to be taking over for the city guards, although I cannot fathom why. I heard some people talking about something bad happening in a little village to the north of here, but I didn't catch all of what they were saying. Maybe that has something to do with it."  
  
I shifted in my seat. "I overheard a couple of temple servants gossiping while I was in Gil's. A message came in from Lohan this morning addressed to the High Priest. Apparently the Moon Child was staying in Vista yesterday afternoon when the Black Monster attacked the village."  
  
Tabby squeaked loudly and toppled off of the side of my cot. Scrambling to get back up, she asked, "What happened?"  
  
I glanced at Remmy. This wasn't exactly the sort of thing that should be talked about around a kid, after all. Remmy continued wrapping the hilt of the sword without a pause. "She's bound to hear about it sooner or later anyway. Better from you than some gossipy merchant."  
  
I was about to point out to her that the entire story came from a gossipy pair of temple servants, but thought the better of it. "He blasted it. I guess there's not much left of it except for a big smoking hole in the ground. The thing is, the Child survived that and managed to chase off the monster before he could kill the other survivors. The priests are probably worried that he'll be coming after the temples next."  
  
Remmy nodded slowly. "That would make sense, although why that they think a monster would have the intelligence to do such a thing is beyond me."  
  
I shrugged. "They're the ones who are supposed to be experts on the subject, not us."  
  
Remmy finished strapping and hefted the blade. "Come on, come and get this great log splitter of yours. I still don't see how you can fight with a weapon of this size. It has to be one of the heaviest weapons I've ever seen."  
  
Getting to my feet, I took the blade back and started to examine it. "You haven't seen a lot of weapons then. Pray that you never have to." The strapping was well done, with hard black strips of leather. The grip felt a little strange without the worn in indents where my fingers usually gripped, but it was a good change. "Nice job."  
  
Remmy opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get a word out there was a crashing sound from the street above, followed by a drunken yell. Closing her mouth again, she shook her head. "Not even the eighth hour and they're already drunk enough to brawl. Looks as though they've forgotten you live here again."  
  
I grunted and sheathed my sword, trying to ignore the gritty sound it made as the steel slid into the leather case. I had cleaned the mud off the blade, but I hadn't been able to get it all out of the sheath. "I'll have to remind them. You stay down here with Tabby until I'm finished, okay?"  
  
Remmy nodded, and I clambered up the wooden ladder to the hallway. The sounds of the brawl were louder above the floorboards as I climbed out of the hatch. Pulling my sword clear of its scabbard, I headed straight to the front door and jerked it open.  
  
The street out side was chaos. Twenty men grappled in the streets, armed with their fists, broken chair legs, and empty bottles of liquor. Screams and yells echoed through the streets, punctuated by the sound of liquor bottles shattering over people's heads. Not an uncommon scene when you live across the road from a seedy tavern like The Cradle, but still a big brawl.  
  
One thing about brawls is that the people involved are never very selective when it comes to choosing their targets. I hadn't had the door open for five seconds before one cross-eyed fellow swinging the stump of a broken rum bottle lunged at me, howling something about his sister. Knocking the bottle to one side, I grabbed him by the front of his stained jacket and heaved him backward out onto the street. He collided with a second man, and they both went down in a jumbled heap. Neither of them got back to their feet.  
  
For a moment the fighting quieted as those nearby paused in their wrestling to stare at the two men lying face down in the mud, both of them out cold. Only for a moment, mind. A few of the drunks showed a rare sign of sober judgement and prudently turned tail and ran. The rest returned to the scuffle with zeal, swearing loudly as they made up for the momentary pause.  
  
Muttering a few choice oaths of my own I jumped off of the doorstep and into the fray, laying about with the flat of my blade. Three went down in quick succession, groaning and clasping fractured knees and shins before the rest of the mob began to draw back warily, flexing their fingers. I'd broken up fights from The Cradle more times than I care to count, and many of these men had been through this situation before. I could almost hear the rusty, rum soaked cogs in their minds turning as they weighed up the situation. There were still ten or twelve of them left, but my reputation weighed heavily on their minds. In truth, if they had all attacked at once, drunk or not, they could have taken me down without too much trouble, but they didn't seem to realize that. Sometimes my reputation as a prize fighter causes problems, but this was one of the times when I was glad to have it. Grudgingly, starting with a few men at first and then the rest slowly following suit, the brawlers dispersed and I was left standing alone in the street.  
  
Well, almost alone.  
  
"Damnen!" Two temple guardsmen were coming down the street, their long spears held rigidly in their hands. The taller of the two I didn't recognize, but the one who had spoken, a man of medium size and build with waves of iron grey in his hair, was vaguely familiar. "I thought that it might be you."  
  
Lowering my sword, I glanced at the groaning men sitting in the mud nearby. "What do you mean by that, my l-Lord?" I almost choked over the title, but I managed to get it out. Normally I wouldn't have bothered, but right now, standing in the midst of what had been a brawl until a few minutes before, currying favor didn't seem like a bad idea.  
  
If the ego-stroking had any effect, it didn't show. "We received word of a street brawl a few minutes ago. I had suspected that I would find some low- life at the root of it, but I had no idea that they let rodents like you into taverns anymore."  
  
I bristled at the insult, trying to keep a rein on my temper. I couldn't afford to lose it now. I glared at the ground for a moment and suddenly I was able to put a name to his face. "You're Sergeant Winalf, aren't you," I rasped, suddenly feeling as though fingers were closing around my windpipe.  
  
Winalf nodded, and I felt a surge of hate for the man. One of the few survivors of those ill-fated campaigns into the eastern lands, he had been in command of Daysk's unit. He had been of a higher rank then, but was demoted on his return. Since then he had managed to work his way back up to sergeant, but he was still kept under surveillance. Personally, I was glad of it. He had deserted his unit to their deaths. "You knew my brother."  
  
"I did." He smiled, but it was hardly friendly. "He was a mediocre soldier at best, but at least he never sank quite to your level."  
  
I ground my teeth. "At least I'm still head and shoulders above you, scum. I don't turn tail and run, and neither did Daysk."  
  
He snorted. "Your brother was the biggest fool of them all. Bravery is to be valued, but not when it crosses over into stupidity. Do you know how he died?" He asked, his eyes fixing on mine. "He was one of those leading the first charge against those demons. Oh, he was brave all right, waving his spear and screaming his defiance to death- right up until he got caught between two of the smaller dragons. He was screaming for quite a while after that, as I recall." Plucking a twig up from the mud, he balanced it between two fingers for a second before snapping it with a meaningful grin.  
  
The dam that had been holding back my temper burst. With a snarl I raised my sword and charged towards the two guardsmen, all sane thought evaporating from my mind. Winalf managed to block my first strike with his spearhead, but my second stroke chopped the heavy haft clean in two. He stumbled backward and raised his arms as though to shield himself, but flesh and bone have never been a mach for steel.  
  
The second man dropped his spear and ran as I kicked Winalf's limp form of the end of my sword. I started to go after him, but stopped before I had taken two steps. There was no point. The guardsmen would find out about this whether he was the one who told them or not. Brushing a hunk of hair out of my eyes, I froze as my sticky, bloody fingers touched my skin. Slowly, the enormity of what I had just done sunk in. I had killed a guardsman. I would be ordered executed for sure.  
  
Behind me I could hear Remmy open the door hesitantly. "Zion? Zion, what happened he-" she trailed off as her eyes fell on Winalf's uniform.  
  
"Remmy, get out of here." My voice was surprisingly level as I spoke, still staring at my fingers. "Take Tabby and leave the city before they come." I looked up at last as she hesitated, fixing my eyes on hers. "You have to leave this place NOW!"  
  
  
  
I am a horrible person, I know. But I'll say it now so that I don't have to explain it again later: School is starting, so there is going to be a definite delay before I am able to get the next chapter up. Grade eleven: I'm getting alarmingly close to the point that I'm going to have to start thinking about university. I will try to keep the updates coming regularly, but unfortunately schoolwork is going to have to become a (however detestable) priority in my life. **sighs** And I don't think that I can count on a steady stream of natural disasters to give me more writing time until after Christmas. (Woot for Canadian winters! We had several weeks worth of snow days and three flood days last year! Yeah baby! Unfortunately, that flood did take some lives.) 


	34. Awakening

Ouch. I pulled a muscle in my neck head banging at a Sum 41 concert. Came out of there blinder than usual, somewhat deaf, and with a British accent that crops up whenever I can't hear myself speaking. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter posted, but my teachers seem to have infected me with a severe case of writers block in addition to routine piles of homework. That, and I hated the way the beginning of the chapter kept starting out.  
  
To Sors: What's going on at Ulara? Not much, and quite a hassle at the same time. Blah. I'll make it into a side story for the next chapter thing. Or something. ^-^x  
  
To Striker: No, not exiled. Executed! Neheheh. Or at least, they'll try. Fun fun. What's up with Asalla and Mathis? Why can't they just have another kid? Well, I guess that they could have let Ayrel be horribly killed (Nyahahah) and then gone on to have another kid, but then I'd be out of plot for the last leg of the story. That's the bare truth of the matter. Bites, huh? But, for the covered-up story 'truth-of-the-matter', Mathis is a fanatic (killthemathiskillthemathiskillthemathisteehee! ^o^) and Ayrel, whether she realizes it or not, has her claws dug so deeply into his heart that he couldn't get away even if he wanted to. And as for Asalla, well, Asalla is Asalla. If she survives, I think that I'm going to have to nominate her for the 'Most Devoted Mother of the Millennia Award'.  
  
Just to get this straight, in both my mind and for anyone who may be confused: For the cult's little private army, it's composed of Guardsmen and Dread knights. Guardsmen are normal infantry, while dread knights are the specialized elite.  
  
  
  
Twilight had fallen over the ancient city of Kazas, plunging the muddy streets into deep shadow. From above the city gave off the impression of a vast grid: avenues, alleyways, and side streets in a tight, rigid weave. In the better kept, wealthier districts spots of light shone feebly from tin covered lanterns spaced along the roads, but for the most part the city was dark. Few people where out tonight; even the normally crowded market place was empty save for a few dispirited beggars huddled up on the doorsteps of shops. Normally the taverns would be doing a roaring trade in mulled mead and wine as their patrons tried to chase away the damp, but only a few brave customers sat on the stools tonight. An oppressive atmosphere had settled over Kazas, and few ventured out from their homes.  
  
In one of the seedier districts of the city The Cradle was no exception, although it was dark and empty for a very different reason. In the wake of the brawl the street was quiet, holding its breath. Unlike most of the rest of the streets however, the road was not empty.  
  
Sargent Winalf del Vanaa, formerly of the temple guardsmen, lay face down in a dark sticky pool in the middle of the street in front of The Cradle. He had lain there for ten minutes now without moving. Not that someone in his condition could really be expected to move. Sargent Winalf del Vanaa had caused problems for a great many people during his long life; maybe it wasn't so strange that even in death he managed to place one last problem at someone's feet.  
  
That 'someone' was currently three streets over, running as though pursued by the hounds of hell.  
  
Zion's POV:  
  
The clouds that had hung over the city earlier in the day had thinned to a few wisps of drifting vapor, partially obscuring the moon's scarred face. A few stars shone faintly in the twilight, looking cold and lonely in the blue-black sky. Here and there bats flitted about over the rain soaked streets, oblivious to the damp chill that had permeated the city in the wake of the storm. Steeped in shadows, the narrow streets were scattered with detritus from the slate shingled roofs and crumbling walls of the buildings. The greased paper covering the windows of the houses let only a faint glow out into the streets, hardly enough to see by.  
  
Stumbling over a rotten chunk of whitewashed log, I slowed my pace. Rushing headlong through the streets would do me no good, especially if I were to break my ankle tripping over a broken slate. Breathing hard, I reached up and touched the hilt of my sword. Whatever situation I may have gotten myself into, its weight was a great comfort.  
  
And just what ~had~ I got myself into? By killing Winalf I had done the last thing I had wanted and seriously breached temple law: the headsmen's block was the best thing that I could hope for now. Brushing my fingers over the hilt a second time, I shook my head and let my hand fall away. But that was only if I was caught before I could find my way out of here.  
  
I took a moment to gather my bearings. Standing halfway up a cobbled stone street glistening with puddles and wet, my panicked run had taken me in the direction of the Main Gate. No good; I retraced my steps to the head of the avenue and headed in the opposite direction. By the time I could reach the gate word of my crime would have already reached the guards. And even if I could beat the messengers to the gate, without a horse there was little chance that I would be able to get very far before they caught up with me. And my horse was hopefully half a league from the city by now, carrying Remmy and Tabby out of the danger zone. Maybe I should have taken the horse for myself and run, but I owed the woman. If it were discovered that I was missing, she would have been dragged in for questioning. And an inquisitorial session from the dread knights of the Temple is something that no woman, or man, should have to endure.  
  
No, if I were going to get out of the city, it would have to be via a different route. Across the street a cur slunk out from underneath a rotting doorstep to watch me pass; he gave a few half-hearted yips, then retreated back into his den when I paid him no mind. Aside from the Main Gate, the only other exit was an old timber gate in the western wall. It wasn't any great secret in the city, but aside from going over the wall itself it was my only choice. Wishing that I had had the sense to grab a proper cloak before leaving, I continued down the road at a run. The western gate was a half-hour walk from my current position; now, I wasn't sure if I even had that much time.  
  
The street fed into an intersection and there the paving stopped. A lone tin lantern hanging outside a seamstress's shop on the corner illuminated a small part of the street before it. The mud was thick with footprints and was carved up by the ruts left behind by wagons and carts. The wagon drivers must have made profit today, shipping away debris from the storm. Still caught up in my own thoughts I rounded the corner, stepping into the pool of light before realizing with a start that the street wasn't quite as empty as I had thought it.  
  
I skidded to a stop and there was a stunned moment of silence as we stared at each other, almost nose to nose. Then the guardsman seemed to recover, tightening his grip on his spear and thrusting at my gut with a snarl.  
  
By twisting aside I managed to escape being impaled, but the slim blade of the spear still caught my side, leaving a long shallow cut across my hip. The spear slipped past, and the motion of the thrust carried the guardsman forward a step. Moving in quickly I brought my elbow up and across my chest, catching the man in the center of his forehead. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell backwards into the mud with a clatter.  
  
Rubbing my elbow I took a step back. Another guardsman. Soa, when was this going to end? I glanced up and down the street nervously. Guardsmen weren't required to patrol the streets yet; that was a job still in the hands of the city guard. If they were out in the streets, then-  
  
Hoisting the fallen guard up by the shoulders, I dragged him into the deep shadows of the low brick building next to the seamstress's shop. He wasn't completely out of sight, but there was no other place that I could really leave him. Letting his body sag to the ground again, I retrieved his spear from where it lay in the mud. It was a light thing, more like a throwing javelin than a proper spear. Hefting it, I started to pull my arm back to cast it away, but then stopped. If the temple's men were out in the streets, than the last thing I wanted to happen was to be caught unprepared. My sword may be dangerous once it's in my hands but it isn't exactly a quick weapon to draw, and those extra few seconds that drawing it cost me was ample time to shove a spear into my ribs. At least with the javelin then I wouldn't have to worry about being caught unarmed.  
  
The streets were empty for several blocks, silent as the twilight covering the city slowly faded into the dark of night. I moved as quickly as I dared, my own footsteps sounding thunderous in my ears. At any moment I expected to hear the shouts of guardsmen, spears lancing out of the darkness to cut me down. But no shouts came, and I ran through the street without having to slow to a walk once. In fact, I had almost reached the Western wall before I saw anyone at all.  
  
It's a stroke of luck on my part that the armor that standard issue of armor the temple equips their solders with is made almost entirely of chain mail. In the still of the night you can hear the 'clink' of steel rings rattling against one another long before you even see the man wearing the armor. In a group, they sound like a hyperactive child shaking a jar of coppers. When at last my path began to cross with those of the patrols, I was able to avoid them by backtracking or ducking into alleys or such. Each time they would pass by unawares, muttering quietly to one another as they made a show of peering into the shadows lining the buildings. For all their pretense of searching, none of them seemed very keen to leave the main streets.  
  
Crouching behind a pile of crates after avoiding one such group, I allowed myself to pause for a breather. The gate was close now, just beyond the nameless plaza at the end of the street. I rubbed my forehead, smoothing out the furrows in my brow. The patrols were coming by more and more frequently, coming from or in the direction of the gate. A guard had probably been posted at the gate as well; with the way my luck was running, two or three guardsmen most likely. Well, as long as I had the element of surprise then I could probably end things quickly enough. The gate was only a small affaire anyhow, large enough for two people to squeeze through side by side. The locks were old and rusted; one or two strikes with my broadsword would act as well as any key. But first I still had to get through those guards.  
  
As I eased myself slowly to my feet, I felt an uncomfortable warmth pressing against my chest. Starting, I reached into the folds of my overshirt. My fingers encountered something hard and smooth. The odd gemstone that Ry had forced on me. With all of the commotion I had forgotten about it. Pulling the stone out, I immediately covered it with both hands. It was glowing again, the fiery red filtering through my fingers and illuminating the air around me with a hazy light. Pulling open my shirt I tried to muffle the glow in the fabric but it did little good.  
  
I've probably said this before, and if I haven't already then I'll definitely say it again: Fate loves to screw me over. As I struggled with the damned lump of stone, the sound of jingling chain mail and heavy footfalls filled the air. Automatically I dropped to one knee behind the crates, but the damage was already done. Shouts echoed off of the buildings lining the narrow street; glancing back over my shoulder I saw a patrol of three guardsmen charging up the street, spears lowered and at the ready.  
  
There wasn't really much else for it. Leaving the stone inside my shirt I jumped to my feet, hands groping for the spear that I had procured earlier. Taking two quick side steps I hurled it at the middle guard before turning to run without checking to see if I had struck my target. Guards or no guards, the only way I could possibly make it out now was by simply cutting my way through to the gate. Bolting down the remaining stretch of the road, I emerged out into the plaza in full flight, trying to heave my blade from its sheath as I ran.  
  
The plazas that dot Kazas are all very much the same. Large open areas that are usually cobbled, they provide an area for public celebrations or bazaars. Trees grew through breaks in the paving, graceful white birches looking pale and ghostly in the darkness. Stone watering troughs for horses were placed near the shops ringing the edge, and a small wooden stage stood at the western end. The center of each as dominated by a large carved statue of some long dead ruler of Kazas; in the case of this one it was a stocky, robust looking man with a wicked looking sword held negligently in each hand. A tarnished engraved copper plate at the base gave the man's name, but time and the elements had all but worn it away. I had taken Tabby here during the Festival of Spring last year, so that she could see the company of actors who were in town. The gate was just on the other side, down a side street.  
  
I made a beeline for that street, noticing as I did so a second and third patrol come rushing into the square from adjacent streets. Counting the men already on my tail, that brought the number to eight. Breath whistling out of my throat, I pushed myself even harder as I struggled to keep the pace as I passed next to the statue. And preoccupied with the men on my trail, I failed to see the shadow detach itself from the darkness at the foot of the monolith and thrust a slim stave out into my path.  
  
It tangled in my legs as I passed and I was sent sprawling face first onto the ground. My head struck hard, grinding my lip and nose into the smooth stones. I lay there, dazed, as the rest of the guardsmen caught up, quickly forming a ring around me with the points of their spears tickling my shoulders. Tasting blood from a split in my lip, my stomach sank as the feeling of defeat settled in. I'd been beaten.  
  
"Making a break for the West Gate, huh?" One of the men chuckled, his spear grazing my neck. "Ass. Did you actually think that you'd get out? I can't believe you tripped over your own feet."  
  
I winced as one of the spearheads dug into my spine. "You guys must be getting slow if you only just caught up with me now. Its not like I was running the whole way or anything. Not just slow, soft too." I cocked my head to one side so that I could see the man who'd spoken. "Especially you, slime ball. How'd you manage to fit into a mail coat with a gut like that?"  
  
The spear blade grazing my neck pushed into the skin, drawing a thin trickle of blood. "You filth," the guardsman spat, "I ought to split you open for that!"  
  
I grinned lopsidedly, the hard taste of iron filling my mouth as more blood trickled in. "Go right on ahead. Bet you'd get a promotion for that; a sweet position training a new wave of trainees. Then you could sit about on your fat ass and yell drills at them while you just keep on packing on the flab."  
  
He snarled, tensing his shoulders as though to shove down hard on his spear, but stopped as a hollow grating voice echoed from the shadows.  
  
"That will be enough, Garth." The guardsmen stirred and then parted, making room for the new arrival. Garth's spear left my neck as he stepped back, startled.  
  
"Who-? What are you doing here-" he faltered, his face paling as the speaker moved into view. "Captain Soltrane?" He choked.  
  
Trying my best to look back over my shoulder without moving my head, I could just make out an ominous figure standing at my feet. Giving up, I closed my eyes. I didn't need a clear look at the man to know what he was. Short of the priests, there's only one caste in the temple that the guardsmen will give ground to.  
  
The dread knight stirred. "Your men almost failed, Garth. I had expected better of you, for all of your boasting." The spears pressing into my back disappeared and the collar of my shirt was seized in a strong grip, hauling me roughly to my feet. My head spun as the blood rushed from my head; trying to stand upright, I was towed back down by a hard pull so that I stood with my back arched uncomfortably. Bent over backwards, trying not to let the hold on my collar choke me, I had my first good look at the dread knight captain Soltrane.  
  
He wasn't very tall, which explained my awkward position. Unlike most dread knights, a long cape hung from the shoulder guards and the black enameled armor he wore lacked the dramatic spikes and angles that were so common among the ranks. The only exception to this was his helm: rather than adapting the twisted bestial shape used by the lower ranks, an artisan had created it in the image of a griffin's head, complete with a feathered crest falling down the back of his neck. The griffin's 'mouth' was open, and Soltrane's nose and mouth were just visible through the gap, covered by a thin strip of dark cloth. Distorted by the steel surrounding his face and muffled by the cloth, Soltrane's voice sounded strangely inhuman when he spoke. "Bind his hands. He goes back to the temple."  
  
"But the commander told us that if we caught him, he was to be executed where he stood." One of the guardsmen protested. He shrunk back as the dread knight's gaze turned on him.  
  
"I believe, Johansan, that I outrank your precious commander." The pressure on my neck lessened slightly as one of the men stepped forward, fumbling with a length of hemp rope. "Forsaken by the goddess or no, Damnen is getting a trail."  
  
Johansan fidgeted nervously, but didn't interfere. As the other man finished tightening my bindings though he stiffened, starring at my chest. "Hold on a minute. What's that?"  
  
One characteristic that Soltrane's armor didn't lack was the short bladed protrusions on the steel plates covering the back of his hand. These were pressed flat against my jugular as one of the guardsmen stepped in close, cutting open my over shirt with a small dagger. As the coarse fabric flapped loose, a small crystalline object dropped to the ground. It bounced on the stones once or twice before rolling into a small rut; the air around it infused with an angry red glow.  
  
There was a sharp intake of breath next to my ear. "For the love of the goddess," Soltrane whispered. "Pick that up, man, now!"  
  
Looking as though he had just been told to pick up a venomous serpent, the guard bent over to retrieve the object with shaking hands. But when his fingers brushed the smooth surface the glow surrounding the stone seemed to grow and intensify and the air suddenly felt as though someone had opened an oven. The guard flinched back, trying to shield his eyes, but the stone continued to radiate heat, the light pulsating in time with some unseen source. And as the heat reached the point that beads of sweat had begun to break out on my face, the gem lifted off of the ground of its own accord, slowly rising into the air until it hovered level with my chest.  
  
Soltrane had let go of my neck, stumbling backward into the statue in a frantic attempt to escape the blistering heat. Strange; as hot as it was, it seemed to be affecting me far less than the other men. I starred at the floating stone bemusedly, my thoughts suddenly seeming to be coming slowly to me through a heavy fog. From somewhere infinitely far off someone was shouting something; whether it was at me or because of me, I had no idea. In any case, I wouldn't have much time to think about it. As suddenly as though someone had doused it with a bucket of water, the glow surrounding the stone flickered and died, leaving us to stand in the pitch darkness.  
  
A moment later my world was consumed by fire.  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
/So what now?/  
  
//Find an inn. If nothing's happened yet tonight, then we're probably safe for now//  
  
We stood on a street corner within sight of the main gate, watching the dread knight sentries pacing back and forth on the catwalk at the top of the wall. From time to time one would stop and stare out over the countryside, the light from his torch reflecting off the ridges in his helm. Some clever craftsman had been hired out of late to shape the helms and armor of the dread knights; with the traditional ridged breastplates and helms carved and shaped to resemble some sort of fanciful behemoth, they resembled semi-human beasts stalking about in the moonlight.  
  
Tucking my left arm further underneath my coat, I frowned and tugged the knot holding the sling experimentally. I had managed to heal the worst of the breakage and stop the bleeding with a potion, but the flesh and muscle would have to heal on its own if I was ever going to be able to use it again. Potions are convenient quick solutions in a battle, but sooner or later they need some proper attention and time in order to heal completely. Time consuming, but I would rather fight with one hand now than have my arm give out on me later when I really needed it.  
  
/Probably. Some mulled wine sounds good about now/ Pulling my coat closed, I started down the road in the direction of the town's heart. I had seen a relatively clean inn there earlier today, just before I had caught up with Zion that would do for the night. /Hey, what do we have left for funds?/  
  
Ragnarok started to answer, but changed his phrasing mid-sentence. //I'm not sure. Two hund- Listen!//  
  
Dull hoof beats were pounding up the road in our direction; a moment later a horse and rider was bearing down on us at a dead gallop. Stepping back out of its path I watched as it flew past, the cloak of the rider trailing behind it like a ragged banner. A small child sat on the withers of the horse, clinging to the beast's neck as it ran. The rider was a plump woman riding lightly and very well, taking her figure into account. She was also driving the horse onward with a short leather quirt.  
  
//She's running scared//  
  
Without slowing down they rushed on through the open gates, nearly mowing down the city guard who tried to stop them in the process. The horse quickly was swallowed up in the twilight, until all that was left to show of their passing was churned up mud and hoof beats fading rapidly into the night.  
  
/I think you're right/ I replied after a minute, watching as one of the city guard scrambled onto his horse to give pursuit. He was quick to mount, but by the time he finally rode out his quarry had probably managed to put almost a mile between her and the city walls. Rubbing the back of my neck I continued on. /What do you think happened?/  
  
Ark didn't reply. Not wanting to press him, I turned my attention to the shops nearby. Most of the windows were dark, but near the central marketplace two torches had been thrust into the ground. Guttering brightly in the night, the only thing more welcoming was the smell of roasting meat drifting from the inn. On cue, my stomach gurgled loudly. Suddenly remembering that I hadn't eaten since I had arrived in the city early that morning, I climbed the steps and ducked through the curtained doorway.  
  
Inside the common room was nearly empty, but the fire burning on the hearth chased away the damp from the outdoors. Warm, honey colored boards paneled the walls; clean wax candles burned in tin holders every ten feet or so on tables around the edge of the room. Small round tables, some cluttered with empty dishes, but for the most part scoured clean with sand, were arranged in a broad arc next to the fireplace. At the moment only one was in use; three men of varying ages lounged about it in chairs playing cards and sipping ale from dented tin cups. Off duty guards, most likely.  
  
Seating myself at a table on the other side of the fireplace, I rapped my knuckles lightly on the tabletop. A serving maid, her long blonde hair caught in a braid that hung down to her waist, popped her head out of a doorway that I assumed led to the kitchen. "Sir?"  
  
"Food. Doesn't matter what kind, just as long as it's hot." I leaned back in my chair as she disappeared back behind the doorframe, enjoying the feel of the fire at my back. The heavy heat that had been so unbearable in Lohan just two days ago seemed worlds away.  
  
Shortly the serving girl came back out, carrying a tray loaded down with a thick clay bowl filled with stew and part of a loaf of bread. Setting it down in front of me, she watched curiously as I started to eat.  
  
"Haven't seen you around here before. I'm Shelia. What's yours?"  
  
"Ry." Soaking up some of gravy with a chunk of bread, I took a bite. The gravy was a little watery, but the bread was still warm from the oven.  
  
"Funny name. Are you foreign or something?" She asked, her brow furrowing slightly. "We had a few merchants through here from Fletz yesterday."  
  
"Foreign?" I swallowed the bread and picked up a spoon. "You could say that."  
  
Shelia made one or two more attempts to strike up conversation, but gave up when she realized that I was more interested in food than talking. Giving a little huff, she tossed her braid back over her shoulder and flounced prettily over to the table occupied by the guardsmen. Pausing with the spoon halfway to my mouth, I watched her go out of the corner of my eye. Shame, really. I should have talked to her some more; she was quite pretty. Maybe I'd catch up with her later on.  
  
//Quit eyeing the wench, Dart. You don't have time//  
  
I snorted and finished transferring the spoon from the bowl to my mouth. /You take all of the fun out of life, you know that?/ Something jabbed me in the roof of the mouth, and I spat out a bone. Pushing the stew aside, I reached for more bread.  
  
The curtain hung across the doorway moved, and a grizzled man with sparse, iron-grey hair ducked inconspicuously into the room. Or made an attempt to, anyway. He was only about five feet tall and had a large, purple birthmark marring the left side of his haggard face. His clothes, dark peasants brown for the most part, were stained and the spurs on the back of his boots were caked with mud from the streets. Most importantly, he wore a green surcoat over his chain mail shirt, marking him as a temple messenger. Tossing his worn cloak negligently back over one shoulder, he ignored me completely and headed for the guards lounging about around the table.  
  
As he approached one of the men, a young man with his chin covered in stubble, looked up from his cards long enough to give the messenger a scathing look. "Hey, Thwal. What the hell does your bloody Temple want from us now?"  
  
Shelia fled to the kitchen. The other men seated around the table looked about apprehensively, and Thwal's jaw tightened angrily. "Watch your tongue Mao, or I'm going to have to cut it out." His hand drifted to a narrow dagger shoved through his belt, and he thumbed the blade almost eagerly. "The city guard has been ordered to provide us with assistance tonight as needed. And right now, we need you slobs out helping to patrol the streets."  
  
"Why would we do that? Trump," he added, laying a card on top of the pile in the middle of the table. One of his partners cursed under his breath and shuffled through his hand.  
  
"Mao, your attitude is going to get you into trouble one of these days." Thwal growled ominously.  
  
Picking up a card, Mao raised an eyebrow. "Not from you it won't. You're an errand boy, not a guardsman. And you're downright foul to boot. No one'd miss you enough to convict me anyhow." He winced as another card was laid. "Shoot. You cultists have become way too full of yourselves for your own good. Now, if there were more people out there like Damnen-"  
  
"Damnen is as good as dead. That coward just murdered Winalf del Vanaa!"  
  
I dropped my spoon onto the table with a clatter, but no one seemed to notice. The room seemed to be holding their breath; the cook was peering out through the kitchen door.  
  
"Did he? A guardsmen? Good job!" Mao chuckled and took a drink from a tankard. "And now I suppose you want us to go and help to track him down? Forget it. Anyone going after Damnen is picking a fight with the reaper."  
  
Tossing a handful of small coin indiscriminately on the table, a pushed back my chair and left the table. No one took any notice; all eyes were on the two men arguing at the table. Crossing the room and pushing the curtain aside, the last sound I heard as I stepped out into the night was a startled gasp from the cook standing in the kitchen doorframe as Thwal hit Mao upside the head with his fist. Letting the curtain fall closed behind me, I glanced around. A small horse, probably Thwal's, had been tethered to an iron ring set into the wall of the inn; jumping off of the step, I fumbled with the leather reins with my good hand, ignoring the animal's startled spook. /What the hell is that kid thinking, killing a guardsmen?/  
  
//Who knows, but I applaud him for it// Ragnarok sounded grimly delighted. //He must be trying to get out of the city before they can hunt him down//  
  
/If the city guard's been mobilized, he'll never make it/ I replied, tossing the reins up over the horse's head and swinging awkwardly up into the high-cantled saddle. /Not through the main gate, at any rate/  
  
//Then he won't be heading in that direction// Ark hesitated as I twisted my belt around so that the sheath rested more comfortably over my left thigh. Thumping the gelding's sides with my heels, I wheeled the animal about and urged it into a fast trot. //Don't bother// He snapped. //Do you honestly think you'll find him before they do, running about blindly?//  
  
/Do you have any other ideas?/ I asked as the horse broke into a canter.  
  
//Several, actually. And if you would so kindly stop this blasted creature and listen for a moment, I'd tell you//  
  
I did as I was bid. /Well?/  
  
//Give me a moment. You gave the red-eye spirit to Damnen, didn't you? We can use that link to track him, if need be//  
  
/I'd say that there is a need. Why didn't you mention this before?/  
  
//It only works if you were the one who passed on the stone// Ragnarok said irritably. //Don't you think that I would have mentioned it earlier if I thought there was a use?//  
  
The magic itself wasn't particularly difficult. At least, it wouldn't have been for Ark. At least I didn't have to deal with the headache that always came when he channeled it through me. But for a human whose natural skill with magic is next to none, it felt as though I was trying to lift a mountain with my fingertips. The basic principle involved sending my mind 'out', as Ark called it, to find the spirit. That I was already used to surrendering control of my body to Ark helped somewhat, but taking my mind out of my body completely required an effort I hadn't realized previously. After several false starts, I finally managed it on my fourth try. The world around me plunged into darkness, but my mind remained alert. Something felt odd; it was a moment before I could place it. Floating bodiless in the void, for the first time in centuries I was alone in my own mind. Ark was still trapped within my own body, unable to leave the vessel that carried his spirit. I drifted about aimlessly, trying to come to grips with what to do next when I felt it. A trail, like but not quite the same as a scent, wound off into the blackness. It was warm; touching it once, I followed it through the dark, the hound coursing for the rabbit. Images flitted through my thoughts: muddy, narrow streets soaked in shadow, broad avenues paved in cobbles and lighted by tin lamps. Direction and distance was meaningless in this place, but the figures still attached themselves to the images. Abruptly the train of pictures disappeared and a red light was left burning alone in the blackness. The red-eye spirit. And then the light and the void disappeared, and I was back sitting in an uncomfortable saddle in the middle of Kazas' damp streets.  
  
//Well?//  
  
My thoughts slowly re-organized themselves. /West, I think/ I gave my head a little shake, then picked up the reins. /Yeah. He's a little less than a mile to the northwest, near the gate in that section of the wall/ Moving my horse back into a canter, I followed my own directions and took the first street that branched off in a northerly direction.  
  
The red-eye spirit was a constant pull in the back of my mind as we raced through the streets. It made a good guide, although it did nothing to help us to avoid the chunks of wood and plaster littering the streets. We avoided the worst of it, but more than once the gelding tripped, nearly throwing me, and once he almost went down, but by some miracle of Soa I managed to stay in the saddle through the whole ride. The only good thing about Kazas at night is that the layout of the streets is so predictable that it's relatively easy to find your way around the greater part of the city, as long as you keep the idea that it's laid out like a grid firmly in your head. Taking two streets to the north, I cut across onto a street heading more or less in a western direction and let the horse stretch out into a gallop.  
  
When my link with the spirit dissolved at last, we were barreling down a broad avenue sparsely lighted by tin lamps hanging from wooden posts every hundred feet or so. The far end of the street opened up into a plaza, similar to the central marketplace. I'd been there once before, when I had last come to Kazas several years ago. When the spirit's pull, which had been growing steadily stronger as we'd traveled, disappeared I started to rein in my mount, confused. As the animal's strides collected and became shorter, I sat deeper into the saddle and leaned back to avoid being bounced off. /What happened?/  
  
Incandescent light flared up in the plaza ahead. Seeming even more painfully brilliant because of the somber dark it spread and grew, burning the shadows covering the square.  
  
Alarmed by the flash my mount squealed and reared up, front legs flailing in the air wildly. Caught off balance, the reins I had been holding were jerked out of my grasp and I tumbled backwards over the horse's rump. Landing hard, I cried out as pain stabbed through my left shoulder and arm. Without anyone to prevent it from running, the horse wheeled about sharply and bolted back up the street, still squealing. I remained lying on my back on the stones, trying to find the breath that had been knocked from my lungs.  
  
//Get up!//  
  
I didn't immediately comply, gasping as a second wave of pain racked through my arm. Of course, Ark would ignore that. /Give me a second, will you?/ Slowly shifting my weight onto my good arm, I pushed myself up onto my knees. /Sadist/ Lifting my head, I starred at the light. I could see the blurred silhouettes of people moving about in its depths, most of them moving away as quickly as possible. All save for one, who stood directly next to the source.  
  
//I think that we just found the kid//  
  
The light died, and I struggled painfully to my feet. /Wha-?/ Odd, transparent colors swam across my vision as my eyes struggled to adjust to the change. As good as blind, I slowly reached for the hilt of my sword and gripped it tightly, waiting for my eyes to focus again. Unfortunately, they didn't get much of a chance.  
  
A great gout of fire blossomed up in the center of the square, spitting liquid flame in all directions as it spread outward in an ever- expanding circle. From the depths of the inferno someone screamed harshly, the sound raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Instinctively I took a step back, squinting and half-raising one hand to my face. "What the hell's going on?!" I asked aloud.  
  
As we watched, the flames at the core slowly began to condense.  
  
//It's that kid, damn him! He must have activated the stone sub- consciously!//  
  
Zion's POV:  
  
I was burning.  
  
Fire charred my clothing and licked at my face, the heat so intense that it was a wonder that my skin didn't erupt into a mass of blisters. Sweat would have been rolling down my face, were it not for the fact that it evaporated faster than it could form. Somewhere nearby someone was screaming in a hoarse, broken voice; it took a moment to realize that it was me.  
  
I wasn't the only thing burning either. Waves of flame swept through the square, scorching the stones and setting fire to the trees and buildings. The guardsmen whom had held me at spear point moments before were fleeing, trying desperately to outrun the wall of fire bearing down upon them. It died several meters from the edge of the streets, but those who escaped didn't stop running for a very, very long time. Soltrane was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Stop it, I pleaded silently. Someone please, just make it stop!  
  
As if in correspondence with my thoughts, the flames feeding off of my clothing seemed to turn to liquid, melting slowly off of my limbs. What was left behind in its wake, however, was a far cry from the rough linen shirt and loose fitting breeches I had been clad in before. I brought my hand up to my face, starring at the smooth, burnished crimson gauntlet covering my fist.  
  
"Wh-?" I couldn't get the words out. Instead I dropped my gaze to the ornate breastplate, tentatively touching the huge green gemstone that was set into the center. Strange, armor should be made of steel. This was made of something entirely different, harder and lighter. Still stunned, I reached for my sword, which lay on the stones where I had dropped it earlier. It had morphed to match the armor, the plain blade and crosshilt inlaid with curious small stones akin to the one on the breastplate.  
  
There was the scuff of boot on stone behind me. Rising from my crouch, I turned to see what had made the sound.  
  
Stars exploded in my vision as the butt end of a staff slammed into the side of my face. As slumped somewhat awkwardly to the ground, a second blow rebounded off of one of the shoulder plates of the armor. I tried to roll over, but something hampered my movement, and as a result I only made it as far as getting onto my side. Before I could move a heavy boot came down on my arm, pinning it to my ribcage. The butt of a blackthorn staff ground into the stones a hairsbreadth from my nose.  
  
"It's a shame that you've chosen to forsake the Moon Goddess, Damnen. Spirit bearers are rare, and the high priests favor them over all others." Soltrane's voice was soft. "Your life could have actually been worth something. But alas." His voice sharpened. "Where did you come across that stone?"  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" I snarled, glaring out of the corner of my eyes at the other man. To my surprise, he chuckled humorlessly.  
  
"And yet here you are. As I said Damnen, it truly is a pity." Raising the staff, he held it poised to crush my windpipe. "But I guess there really is no excuse for plain stupidity."  
  
'What is going on?' I was starting to get tired of that question. But then again, I was starting to get sick of everything that was happening tonight. Was it just this morning that my biggest worry had been how to get eighty pounds of groceries back to Remmy's? And now here I was, lying on the ground about to get my brains smashed in by a dread knight captain, dressed in some seriously bazaar armor, with the increasing (and justified) feeling that there was something seriously wrong with me. Not to mention being horribly confused as to how exactly the whole affair had come into being. So you can probably piece together what my mood was starting to develop into.  
  
Wrenching my arm out from underneath my body, I seized the end of the staff and yanked. As Soltrane lurched off of me I rolled to my feet and, on some strange instinct, kicked off into the air. Not just jumped; one second I was firmly on the ground and the next I was hovering thirty feet over the cobblestones. It took me a moment to connect the strange flexing feeling in my shoulders to the phenomenon. Wings. I had bloody /wings/ for crying out loud! What sort of freak was I becoming now?  
  
Getting to his feet, Soltrane snarled. Dipping into the neck of his armor, he pulled out what looked like a curiously shaped bottle. Hurling it at me, he dove out of the way.  
  
I reacted without thinking, dipping into a quick shallow dive to dodge the bottle, then flipping over and stretching one hand out towards Soltrane. A torrent of fire burst from my palm, spiraling crazily through the air before colliding into the dread knight with a muffled concussion. Soltrane was thrown backwards, slamming into the statue behind him and collapsing to the ground like a limp rag doll.  
  
The bottle he had thrown smashed on the stones below. Green flames were spreading quickly across the square, seeming to feed off of the stones themselves. I returned to the ground, odd, gossamer wings beating the air slowly as I eyed the emerald fire nervously. Landing well clear of it, I stood subdued watching as the square burned in red and green flame. From where he lay, Soltrane groaned and moved slightly, but I made no move toward him. Reaching back over my shoulder, I felt where my wings protruded from the back of my armor near the base of my neck.  
  
"Wha- what am I?" I asked, my voice sounding hoarse to my own ears.  
  
Unexpectedly, someone answered.  
  
"A dragoon, to put it simply."  
  
"Huh?" I tried to spin around to see who had spoken, but at that moment all of my strength seemed to desert me. My legs buckled underneath me, and I went down to my knees with a clatter. The armor covering my body became uncomfortably warm for a moment, then disappeared in a flash of light. Without it, my exhaustion seemed to become even worse. The gemstone that I had received from him earlier that day dropped to the stones, and I picked it up quickly. Slumping into a sitting position, I looked up. Ry stood several meters away, watching me with an odd expression on his face.  
  
"Dragoon?" The word tugged at something in my memory. "That's impossible. They're just fairy tales."  
  
He laughed quietly. "You'd be surprised how many fairy tales turn out to be the truth, and what truths are really the fiction." He shifted his weight. "No, you're a dragoon alright. That was some powerful magic you did just now," he said conversationally, extending his hand to help me up. "No wonder you're exhausted. You might want to go a little easier in the future."  
  
I hesitated before taking his hand and allowing him to pull me to my feet. In a roundabout way, he was the one who had brought me into this whole mess in the first place after all. But if he had any answers-  
  
Hoisting me to my feet, Ry supported me by one arm until he seemed sure that I could stand on my own. Then he let go and walked away, heading for a gap in the emerald flames.  
  
"Wait!" I started after him, willing my knees not to shake with the effort. "What do you mean 'in the future'?"  
  
He stopped, but didn't look back. "You're a dragoon, Zion. Whether you want it or not, you're a dragoon. Sooner or later you're going to get dragged into the heart of some bloody conflict, and the only way you'll survive it is by relying on your own powers. It comes hand in hand with being one of them."  
  
"One of them? What, there's others like me?"  
  
Ry started walking again. "Who knows?"  
  
I stumbled. I tripped once or twice. But somehow I managed to catch up with him. Grabbing one of his shoulders, I let go quickly as his face contorted in pain. Right, he had that arm in a sling. But he did stop. I starred at him for a moment, trying to get my thoughts in order, but they kept slipping away before I could form the question. Finally, I just asked the question that weighed on my mind most heavily of all.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"That's a big question," Ry replied, raising one eyebrow. "Are you sure you really want to know the answer?"  
  
"Better than ignorance."  
  
He laughed again, but this time it sounded harsh and somewhat flat to my ears. "You may regret saying those words someday."  
  
The clatter of armor filled the air, accompanied by the rumble of many, many footsteps. So the temple had sent reinforcements. Absolutely brilliant. Ry obviously heard it too, because he nodded his head in the direction of the western gate, now only a short distance away. "Come on, then. Regrets or no, you've made your choice." Without waiting to see if I would follow, he turned and ran towards the gate.  
  
Summoning up the strength to follow, it never really occurred to me exactly what he had meant by that. It would be a while before I ever found out. Right then, all I knew is that ahead there was safety, and behind was probably then entire temple garrison.  
  
Too bad I didn't have the faintest idea what I meant by 'safety'.  
  
  
  
Shade: **standing in the center of her subdivision, holding aloft a small white bag labeled 'Hershey's'** Chocolate bars for sale? Support your local high school?  
  
**The doors of the houses lining the street slam shut as a one**  
  
Shade: **looking hurt** Anyone?  
  
There! It's done! Hope you guys liked it, because it was a pain in the arse to write. Took me long enough. So throw pointy objects at me. Gently, though. I still need to get through the rest of the story. 


	35. Escape

All right, back to the Q&A period that I seem to be inserting quite regularly now. ^.- Fun fun.  
  
~ New dragoons merging with the spirits? I hadn't really planned on it. Ragnarok's enough for me. :)  
  
~ What was the spell Zion used? I love it, but I haven't thought up a name for it yet. I decided that each of the dragoons are going to have different spells from those in the game, on the basis that I like the idea of them being sort of personalized. And I don't need anyone reminding me that yes, Zieg did use flame shot. I thought of that. And quite frankly, I decided to ignore it just as quickly. ^-^  
  
DAMN RIGHT, SAFETY IS OVERRATED!!! :D  
  
(The little - things indicate a pause or someone being cut off or trailing off before they can finish the sentence, for anyone who was confused. Sorry about that.)  
  
  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
Closing the rough wooden gates, Dart wedged a chunk of stone under the bottom and kicked it firmly into place. Zion hovered about in the background; deathly pale and swaying slightly on his feet while Dart repeated the process with the second half of the gate. "Are you sure that those will hold?"  
  
Giving the gate one last kick for good measure, Dart gave his work a cursory inspection. "Probably not," he admitted, "But it should give us a bit more time." Returning to Zion, he ducked under the taller man's arm to lend some support. "Come on. If you can make it to the forest, we'll be more or less safe."  
  
//Are you sure that he'll even make it that far? He's dead on his feet//  
  
/He just needs some rest. He's handling it much better than I did/  
  
//Physically, at least// I said as they started to make their way slowly out into the plains surrounding Kazas. //Mentally, he'll probably need some help. What are you going to tell him? You really aren't all that great at coming up with explanations, you know//  
  
/Then I'll just have to tell him the truth/  
  
//The truth?// I replied skeptically. //I can just see that now: "Hey kid, my name's Dart Feld. Yeah, I know I'm supposed to be a thousand years dead and all, but some dragon's decided to live in my body and I got this choker that grants agelessness and all-//  
  
/Well, maybe not the whole truth, then/ Dart cut in.  
  
//A rather vague explanation should be suitable, Dart. This whole thing's so tangled up that even a sketchy description of what's going on should satisfy him. Besides, I don't think that he'd take too kindly to your profession at the moment. He'd probably have a heart attack if he realized that the Black Monster was standing in front of him//  
  
/That or try to toss me into the nuthouse/ He grumbled. /But I see what you mean. We'll figure out something later on/  
  
It was slow going across the field. At one time in the dim past rolling farmland, the shadowy landscape now consisted of a sea of waving timothy grass broken up by low hills and skeletal copses of alder trees, the sparse leaves silver in the moonlight. Overhead the a few thin clouds drifted about, but Moon continued to shine brightly even when one drifted across its scarred surface. As a result the land was bathed in a pale, blue- white light that was under the circumstances completely unwelcome. The dense forest that surrounded the city bordered the edge of the fields, almost a full two miles away. Not a great distance to walk on one's own, certainly, but Zion would be a handicap. In his state it was difficult to keep him from going face first into the ground whenever he stumbled and because of his height and weight it was difficult for Dart not to be dragged down after him.  
  
We had made it perhaps a quarter mile out into the fields when the Western Gate swung outward at last, loosing a flood of torch-bearing cultists out onto the waving grasses. They wouldn't be too much of a problem; the light shining in their eyes would hide us well enough as long as we kept our distance. The only real danger were the two or three who were mounted; loping back and forth between the forest and the city, more than once we were forced to duck into a copse or the deep grasses to avoid being seen. Between hiding and Zion's handicap, it was close to two hours before we finally reached the tree line.  
  
Under the canopy the forest was dark and cool. An owl, startled by our sudden appearance took flight from a rotten tree stump with a mouse dangling limply from its hooked beak. It passed across our path before ghosting off deeper into the woods on silent wings. In the wake of last night's storm broken limbs of every size littered the ground. The scent of dampened loam and moss hung heavy on the air, mingling with the heavy musk from a passing fox. Splashing through a stream that gurgled out from under the roots of a gnarled old oak tree, Dart finally let Zion slide to the ground on the other side. "I think that we should be safe here," he muttered, peering about nearsightedly in the darkness. Very little moonlight filtered through to reach the forest floor here, and as a result it was as dark as the inside of a kettle. "I'd prefer to go a little further, but if we can't see in here then they sure as hell can't."  
  
Zion grunted and crawled over to the roots of the oak, near the source of the spring. "I suppose a fire's out of the question, then." He muttered, shrugging out of the shoulder belt that held his sheath across his back.  
  
"If there was dry wood, maybe. Just try and get some sleep for now."  
  
He sat up quickly, back scraping against the rough oak bark. "Hey! Wha-"  
  
"You'll get your explanations in the morning," Dart cut in wearily. "Trust me, it's not the sort of thing that you want to have dumped on you when you're semi-coherent."  
  
Zion grumbled about this for a bit, but soon his muttering ceased and his breathing steadied and deepened. Groping about into the darkness until he found a fat tree stump, Dart settled down with his back against it. /Well, I guess that's it for now/  
  
//Do you need any sleep? I can keep watch if we switch// I offered.  
  
/Thanks for thinking of it, but I think I'll stay awake a while longer anyhow/ Imitating Zion, he removed his belt and sheath and lay it across his knees with his good hand resting on the hilt. /I don't really expect that the search parties will be coming all of the way into the forest/  
  
I disagreed. //You never know. They won't give up easily, not now that they know that he has one of the dragoon spirits. The cult already has two, and it's been a big enough pain retrieving those we have now//  
  
/I guess that's true/ He admitted. /I wonder if they'll try sending either of theirs after us?/  
  
//If they even have bearers for them. Finding someone who is compatible with a spirit isn't always the easiest task. And if the world is really in crisis, then the spirits are only going to be reacting to very specific people//  
  
/This isn't going to make it much easier for us, then/  
  
//"When dragoons meet, blood will flow, and as they leave, time does slow"// I quoted cryptically. //I don't think that we have to worry. If Zion isn't just a fluke, then sooner or later the prospective bearers will find us whether they want it or not//  
  
/I guess so/ Dart scratched his ear and shivered. /You know, I think I will take you up on your offer after all. I don't think I'll ever manage to get the trick of ignoring temperatures like you do/  
  
//Its easier when it isn't your own body// Taking his place as his mind eased out of contact, the sensations of the forest came flooding back. There was a bit of a chill, probably due to the fact that the damp moss was slowly soaking through his clothes. Putting it out of my mind, I closed my eyes and concentrated instead on the sounds of the forest around me, animals alternately waking up to hunt or settling down for the night. And of course, the ever persistent buzz of mosquitoes. Temperatures don't usually bother me. I'm even fairly indifferent to the weather. Bloodsuckers, however, irritate me.  
  
Slapping my cheek idly, I wished that someone had had the sense to burn whichever fruit they had sprung from before it ever fell from the Divine Tree.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The dim minutes before sunrise plays host to one of nature's oddities. As grey dawn slowly descends upon the world in prelude to Sol's arrival, the birds of the forest will awake and burst into song. An unwritten ritual that has greeted the sun since time immemorial, the birdsong by far surpasses the rude ability of any human composer by leaps and bounds. Mourning doves, blue birds, robins, finches, and another hundred or so varieties of unnamed songbirds raise their voices as a one, piping their own individual melodies in a harmony so complex that the world's greatest court musician could spend a life time deciphering it and still never be able to imitate it.  
  
In other words, it's a bloody awful racket.  
  
The birds in the tree nearest to me scattered into the air twittering madly in panic. Hobbling over to where my boot had landed, I jammed it back onto my foot with a curse. After Dart had passed off the night had been uneventful. Too uneventful: with no reason to move around my attention had wandered and his body fallen asleep without me realizing it. As a result almost every bit of exposed flesh was now covered with itchy white mosquito bites, leaving me very uncomfortable and in a foul mood. As Zion was roused by my muttered curses, I noted with a sort of vindictive pleasure that he hadn't fared any better.  
  
Stifling a cavernous yawn, the young man watched me through bleary eyes. "What's the matter with you?"  
  
I told him- at great length.  
  
I made no attempt to keep a rein on my language, and as a result Zion's face was slightly pale as I finished. Sighing mentally, I woke Dart with a jolt. //Enjoy yourself. He's a morning person// Without further explanation I pushed him to the forefront, retreating to my usual, insect-free vantage point in the back of his mind.  
  
/What?/ Dart blinked once or twice, confused by the sudden switch. Then he caught sight of Zion's face. With a sigh, he started to shake his head, then stopped. /Ark, do me a favor and please keep your early morning explosions in my head, if you don't mind?/ Grinning sheepishly, he rubbed a bite on one of his knuckles. "Sorry. I'm not really one for mornings."  
  
"I noticed," Zion responded faintly, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off of his pants.  
  
Since there wasn't really anything edible on hand they set of immediately, keeping the glow of the rising sun at their right shoulder as they headed north. Thankfully most of the birds seemed to have become preoccupied with foraging for seeds and worms, so we were able to travel in relative peace. The land had a gradual uphill slope that grew more and more pronounced as the miles wore on. By midday we had reached the foothills bordering the mountain range that divided Serdio in to two. From here it would be nearly a weeks walk at best to the nearest of the northern towns.  
  
Stopping for a breather at the crest of one particularly steep hill, Dart pulled off his bandana and scratched his sweaty hairline. The summer heat was back in full force, the damp chill of the past few days forgotten. The crickets droned lazily in the shade of sun warmed bushes, the low persistent buzz a constant reminder of the heat. Slouching back against the trunk of a peeling old birch tree, Dart watched as Zion came up the rocky hill from behind. /He's been quiet this morning/ He noted.  
  
//He's probably still mulling over what happened last night//  
  
/I guess so/ Dart slid to the ground, tucking the strip of cloth into his jacket. Zion gave Dart an odd look when he caught up, but followed his lead and slid gratefully to the ground. Closing his eyes, Dart leaned his head back against the trunk and waited.  
  
He didn't really have to bother with the pretense. Zion shot him an annoyed glance before looking away and clearing his throat. "You said that you have my explanations. Well, lets hear them."  
  
Dart didn't bother opening his eyes. "What exactly did you want to know about?"  
  
"What the hell do you think?" He exploded, the dam holding back his frustration bursting at last. "What happened to me last night? One minute I'm lying out of it on the ground, and then suddenly I'm throwing fire and flying? Normal people don't do things like that, Ry."  
  
"I thought I already told you. You're a dragoon."  
  
"Really? Well bully for me. Mind explaining what you mean by that, exactly?"  
  
Dart opened his eyes a crack. "You don't know anything about dragoons?" he murmured, then sat up. "Damn. That could make things a little bit more difficult."  
  
"Just put it plainly." Zion told him bluntly.  
  
"I wish I could." Dart scratched his chin reflectively. "It's complicated, but I'll try to keep it simple. Alright, do you know anything about The Dragon Campaign?" When Zion looked confused, Dart shook his head and sighed. "Why does the world forget everything that's important?" He asked no one in particular.  
  
//The world doesn't forget. Just humans//  
  
He ignored me. "Okay, close to twelve thousand years ago, the world was run by winglies and their magic. And I don't mean just being the dominant species. They ruled everything; law, other species, the skies, even death itself. Humans, minitos, even the powerful gigantos were slaves, worked like beasts to till the earth to supply their masters with food. Not exactly what could be called a harmonious relationship. Rebellions were common, but they were put down without much fuss. Until one man turned the tide.  
  
I'm not really sure what the story is behind him, but that man came to be known as Emperor Diaz. Humans who had managed to escape the oppression flocked to him, and eventually a fort was built on the desolate snowfields west of the Kashua Glacier. The few escapees became an army, and Gloriano was born. Attacks against the winglies were mounted from Fort Miagrad, but there were many problems from the start. Firstly, many of the most influential wingly cities are stationed in the air rather than on the ground-"  
  
"Wait, what do you mean by 'in the air'?" Zion asked, confused.  
  
"Exactly what I said. Wingly cities were enchanted so that they hovered thousands of feet above the ground." Seeing the look on Zion's face, he added, "Winglies had many technologies that we couldn't even begin to dream of, both magical and not. Incredible devices and I've only ever seen the ruins of the most impressive. Now where was I? Oh, right. Most of the cities such as Zenebatos and Aglis were of the flying type, and the others, such as Deningrad, were too heavily armed and defended for the attacks to be very successful. With their magic, the winglies were simply too powerful. And so Diaz and a handful of his rebels went out in search of a greater power.  
  
"In all of Endiness the only race that the winglies openly feared were the dragons, and it was in them that the humans found allies. While the dragons as a race would not become involved, the spirits of seven dragons were given to the humans. When activated, the individuals holding the spirits were imbued with their power, transforming them into dragoons, or dragon knights." He paused. "With me so far?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
My mind wandered while Dart continued with his explanation, going on to outline the defeat of Melbu Frahma and the rise of the humans. When he began to describe his own generation of dragoons, however, I began interrupting. //You sound like a textbook// I accused at one point when he stopped for a breath //And a wildly inaccurate one at that. I know as well as you do that things didn't happen that way//  
  
/You were the one who told me not to tell him everything/ He reminded me. /And to him, I wasn't alive then, right? This version's only a bit different than the one generally accepted by society anyway, so it should fit in with anything he may learn from anyone else/ Fishing about in his jacket, he pulled out a water skin and uncorked it. After a long drink, he replaced the stopper and continued with his story.  
  
When he finally fell silent, Zion was sitting quietly, trying to digest what he'd just learned. Giving a little cough, he scraped some pine needles into a little mound before scattering them again. "So let me see if I have this right. Dragoons are warriors who appear when the world is facing crisis. They did it twelve thousand years ago, eight hundred years ago, and now you think that they're coming back again? And that I'm one of them?" He shook his head. "But I can't--- why did you pick me?"  
  
"Who said I picked you? Only the spirits can choose their partners." Dart got to his feet, brushing off his long jacket. "Call it chance, but for good or ill the red-eye spirit has chosen you. Now what do you plan on doing about it?"  
  
Zion didn't rise right away. Pulling out the red-eye spirit from somewhere within the folds of his torn shirt he turned it over in his hands, watching how the sunlight caught in the crystalline stone. "It chose me, huh? I guess that I don't have much of a choice, then. Besides," he added airily, "its not like I have anything to do back in Kazas, what with there probably being a price on my head and all now."  
  
Dart chuckled. "That's probably why it chose you in the first place."  
  
"Wha?"  
  
"The cult may make a big deal of the fact that they have two dragoon spirits, but if you were to look into it, you'd find that the dragon spirits aren't as friendly towards them as they'd like to think. You're one of the few people in Kazas that would actually defy them, whether you meant to or not."  
  
"Cult? What, you mean the temple?"  
  
"They're a cult." Dart said firmly. "No matter what they've managed to do with themselves, that's all they are when you boil things down. That kid they worship isn't even a real goddess yet."  
  
I snorted. //The Moon Child was never meant to be a real deity in the first place. It's a god in name only//  
  
"You sure the temple isn't after you too?" He asked, watching Dart closely. "They'd probably try to kill you on the spot for saying that."  
  
"The key word there is 'try'. There isn't a cultist in the world that wouldn't like to see me lying safely dead, but no one's managed to bring me down yet." Dart pulled Zion to his feet. "Come to think of it, there's probably a lot of non-cultists out there who'd like me dead too. I seem to have this knack for mortally offending people of late."  
  
"Good stuff." Tugging at his sword belt, Zion looked around at the rocky hills rising above the forest as though seeing them for the first time. "So, are we supposed to go anywhere in particular? Or just wander around until something bumps into us."  
  
"Whichever. In any case, we should try to reach one of the northern settlements. I'm not doing very well in the way of supplies at the moment. Is there a road anywhere near here?"  
  
"There's one somewhere off to the north, I think. It's been years since I last traveled it, though, so don't hold me to my word."  
  
As it turned out, Zion was right about the road. The sun was sinking behind the foothills when, footsore and hungry, we finally stumbled across it. It was a broad track, beaten into the stony ground from decades of use. With the forest pressing in close and tree limbs overhead, it had the look of a tunnel above ground. Rubbing his eyes, Dart looked around slowly as they walked along it. /I think I'm starting to look forward to some decent sleep. I hate trekking cross-country/  
  
//There is a certain distaste to it, isn't there// I agreed. //Especially in the summer//  
  
/Sometimes I envy you/  
  
//Really?// I asked sarcastically.  
  
/No/ Hiding a yawn behind his hand, he wiped it on his pants. /You want to take over for a bit?/  
  
I was about to respond when Zion suddenly spoke up. "Hey, do you hear that?"  
  
"Huh?" Dart's mind, which had started to slide, snapped back into control. "What?"  
  
"Listen. I think there's a wagon coming."  
  
No sooner than he had spoken the words than a little horse-drawn wagon came rattling up the road behind us, its wheels squeaking occasionally on its poorly oiled axles. As it drew closer two figures could be seen sitting on the drivers bench. An old man in threadbare clothes hunched over the reins, holding the strips of leather loosely in an arthritic grip. Next to him sat a rangy man of middle years with fiery red hair, balancing a heavy quarter stave across his knees.  
  
Zion hailed them, and the wagon creaked to a stop. "Evening, friends. You wouldn't happen to be willing to give a couple of tired travelers a bit of a lift, would you?"  
  
"Not really." The rangy man looked us over suspiciously. "You two don't exactly look like honest travelers toting around weapons like that."  
  
"Mercenaries," Dart shrugged. "A bit down on our luck and out of work, but that's how the world is."  
  
"What are you doing out here?" The old man asked in a querulous voice.  
  
"Truthfully? We were on our way from Bale to Kazas, but, uh---" Dart trailed off, losing his train of thought. Thankfully, Zion cut in before anyone could notice the lapse.  
  
"We were going from Bale to Kazas, but this blockhead," he said, jerking a thumb at Dart, "Insisted on taking some shortcut he claimed to know of. Got us wonderfully lost, and we've been wandering around in these blasted woods for the past week or so."  
  
//He's sharp// I noted.  
  
/Blockhead?/  
  
"A week, huh? That's harsh. Well, we'll take you, but its not going to be for free, mind you."  
  
"Fine by me." Unbuckling his sword, Zion passed it up to the rangy man, who stored it under his seat. Dart unclipped his sword, but after one look at the hilt Red decided to let him put it away on his own. That taken care of, the pair scrambled up into the wagon bed before it lurched off again.  
  
"We can take you as far as Seles. We stop there."  
  
  
  
Wow. Thanksgiving is rolling around again, and I'm realizing that I've had this story running for close to a year. For me, that's a big, big WOW. And thinking about it, I'm reminded of exactly how the idea for the story came into being.  
  
Spending thanksgiving at my aunt and uncle's, I had eaten way, way too much turkey and mashed potatoes (as I always seem to do). And so, lying about on the floor of the computer room, listening to my sister and cousins mass-murder Sims, I happened across a gel pen and paper. Me being me, I doodled. Unfortunately, turkey makes me think funny thoughts. I drew this one (bad) drawing of Dart sitting alone by a campfire, and decided to put a storyline to it. What I came up with is vaguely similar to the first few chapters of the story itself, and I jotted some notes down before shoving it in my back pocket and decided to sleep on it. I woke up the next day with bad hair and morning delirium. And for lack of anything else to do, started typing.  
  
So there you go. Blame the turkey. 


	36. Seles

Fifi- Can you have Zion? **Sniffles** But I likes my Zion!  
  
Sors- **blink blink** I have no idea. If it does, I'm surprised Ark hasn't tried it yet.  
  
"-" Someone being cut off.  
  
  
  
Zion's POV:  
  
The sun beat down relentlessly on the wagon bed, interrupted only by the dappled shadows cast by the leaves of the birch trees as we passed beneath them. No breezes moved the air today, and the oppressive heat settled over the slowly withering forest. The storm that had rocked Kazas nearly a week ago evidently had never made it this far north; here the earth was dry and almost sandy, and what little grass grew along the shoulders of the road was withered and browning. Crickets, ever present, clustered in the shade of shrunken bushes chirruped endlessly to one another.  
  
The heat wasn't only effecting the fauna. Han, the old man who had been driving the cart when we had first came upon it, had taken to dozing under a piece of dust-coated linen with a damp cloth over his forehead. The rangy red-haired man, whose name was Quint, we had learned was Han's nephew. It was he who drove now, hunched over with the reins held loosely in one hand, not really paying attention as the wearied horse slowly plodded along the lane. He had wrapped his flaming red hair in a burlap smock, letting the tail of it fall down the back of his neck. Even Ry, who had spent the first few days of the journey resolutely sweating underneath his long tattered jacket, had given into the heat. He sat leaning back against the side of the creaking wagon in a loose shirt with the collar unbuttoned, the faded black material seeming bleached brown in the sunlight. Though his pants and boots were of similarly dark colour, without the jacket the heat didn't seem to bother him as much. When I finally gave in to curiosity and asked him how he could stand it, he replied rather dryly that he'd discovered it was easier to put up with it than to try to escape it.  
  
For my part I had removed my heavy overshirt and lay on my back in the wagon bed, hands sore and full of splinters from the rough wood. I had stowed my dragoon spirit in a makeshift pouch hanging on a cord around my neck. Out of sight beneath the fine grey wool of my shirt, it had finally stopped glowing. This was good; according to Ry, it shouldn't react on its own anymore, which was a relief. One less concern off of my mind: several more to go. Most immediate of these was the fact that I really had no idea of how to activate my dragoon spirit for my self. Ry had taken me aside when we had stopped for the night a few days ago and explained the theory to me, but it was a poor comparison to actually doing it. And although he assured me that the transformations would go much smoother than my first one, I still felt some apprehension about doing it again. But with Quint and Han around, there was really not very much that could be done.  
  
Up ahead, Quint stirred. "We should be getting close to Seles by now. Maybe two, three hours, tops."  
  
Ry grunted and grabbed the side of the cart to support himself as the left wagon wheel lurched in and out of a deep rut. "As long as there's a physician somewhere nearby, I don't really care. I think that my shoulder's a little worse than I thought."  
  
"Whatever. Just as long as you remember to pay up, I don't really care what your plans are." That said, Quint turned his attention to the meandering road before him.  
  
The wagon continued to rattle along, and after a few minutes I spoke up again, more out of boredom than any desperate need for conversation. "So what's Seles like anyway? They never had any competitions there, so I never bothered coming to this part of the country before."  
  
"I'm not really sure. It's been a very long time."  
  
"How long?"  
  
He shrugged his good shoulder. "Who keeps track? Long enough to know that's probably changed from the last time I was there. It's always been a nice place though."  
  
I give him a hard look. He didn't appear to be any older than his mid- thirties, but the way he spoke made him sound as though he was much older. "How old are you anyway?"  
  
"Older than you." The reply was blunt. Fair enough. If he wasn't going to talk, I wasn't going to press him. Closing my eyes, I bundled up my overshirt and tucked it under my head as a pillow. I could always use some more sleep. The goddess knew I'd probably be spending the better part of the night in the first tavern I saw anyhow.  
  
I awoke later that afternoon to Quint shaking my shoulder roughly. Knocking his hand away, I sat up and yawned, my jawbones creaking with the strain. The sun had begun its slow decent through the last quarter of the sky, but the heat still remained as heavy and oppressive as when I had slipped off earlier. Climbing down from the back of the cart, I stretched out the cramped muscles in my legs. After days spent riding in the back of that creaking contraption I was looking forward to taking a bit of a walk. Absently pulling a splinter from where it had lodged itself in the heel of my palm, I sucked on the sore spot as I made my way to the front of the wagon and pulled out my sword from where it rested under the bench. I was about to walk off when a heavy hand cuffed me on the back of the neck. Turning, I found myself looking down at Han, his usually sleepy eyes sharp.  
  
"We kept our end of the bargain. Now it's your turn. Your friend said that you had the money?" He questioned.  
  
"What?" I looked around, but Ry was no where to be seen. "Bastard," I muttered quietly under my breath. "How much?"  
  
"Four hundred." Gritting my teeth, I reached for my gold. Carefully counting out the sum, I thrust it into the old man's knobby hands before stalking away, muttering underneath my breath. After moving off thirty feet or so, though, my mutterings trailed off.  
  
Quint and Han had stopped their cart at an old storehouse that was built on a low hill overlooking Seles. From the hilltop, the rolling countryside stretched out as far as the eye could see in all directions. Here and there it was dotted with small woodlands, and off to the southwest I could just see the fringes of the larger wood that we had been travelling through that morning. Below me, Seles sprawled out haphazardly between hills, neat little houses built with every form of construction imaginable. It had the look of a small village that had grown quite quickly, before they could think of where the houses should be placed. It wasn't quite large enough to be considered a town yet, but it came close. A small brook, nearly dried up by the summer heat, meandered slowly through the village center, where the more archaic construction of the stone buildings announced the approximate location of the original village. From the midst of it all the twin spires of a church rose up, built from weathered sandstone with bright, stained glass windows.  
  
Starting down the dusty road, I ducked into the first shop I saw. My quick expulsion from Kazas had left me with very little time to collect much of anything, and as a result I spent what gold I had left much faster than I had meant to. Most of it went toward the purchase of a piece of light armor: a thick leather vest ribbed and plated with strips and disks of blackened and beaten steel. Hardly something that would stand up to heavy blows from a sword or a direct thrust from a spear, but it was better than plain cloth and the design of it wouldn't hamper my movement very much. Rubbing what few coins I had left between my fingers as I left the shop, I stepped to one side of the road to make way for a rough-voiced farmer and his mule loaded with firewood. I probably didn't have enough money left to buy much more than a drink or two. Damn. Well, there went my plans for the night. Humming a little tunelessly to myself, I stepped back into the street.  
  
I hadn't really intended on going anywhere in particular, but for whatever reason I soon found myself making my way towards the church that I had seen from the hilltop. I had grown up in Kazas, a town dominated by worship of the Moon Child. Anything else, even worship of Soa herself had always been considered something next to blasphemy. Even though I had been excommunicated from the temple long ago, I was still sort of curious to see what made the Moon Child so much more important than anything else.  
  
The change from the newer area of the village to the old was quite abrupt. Old worn stone homes surrounded by somewhat newer wooden fences lined the single street, well spaced apart from one another. Chickens scratched in the dust, clucking to themselves as they strutted about. A wagon with a broken axle lay outside of a low, square building with smoke rising through a hole in the roof. From somewhere within I could hear the sound of bellows and the ring of a hammer on an anvil. Further up the road a group of young men straddled the roof of a low building, replacing the thatch of the cottage under the watchful eye of their master. A group of children ran past, laughing and waving sticks at one another as they pretended to play at battle.  
  
The street ended at the plain wooden doors of the church. Up close it was far more impressive than from a distance. The sandstone walls were not merely weathered: they were ancient and pitted. Around the carved doorframe there was the faded remains of scorch marks; at some point in the past the church, or maybe even the whole village had been burned. The doors were opened in welcome, and surprisingly cool air drifted out from its shady interior. Climbing up the short stair, I passed through the doors and found myself standing in an aisle, blinking while my eyes tried to adjust to the change in the light.  
  
It was different from the temple I had visited in my youth. While the temples had been composed of wide, open spaces where people stood facing a raised dais where the priests preached, here I was confronted by row upon row of wooden pews. A threadbare red carpet ran between the rows, leading up to a wooden pulpit. Unlit tallow candles stood in sconces along the bare stone walls, waiting for the night. The whole place carried about it a sense of great age and serenity that was calming somehow. Windows filled with intricate stained glass patterns filtered in light, the sunbeams streaming through to the floor taking on the colors of the glass. In the back of the church a small door was open. Beyond it I could just see well- tended grass and rows of headstones. Still curious, I made my way down the aisle and out through the side door.  
  
The cemetery was not large, in spite of the size and age of the village. Many of the headstones had been worn away by time, erasing the engravings. In fact, the only grave marker that still seemed to be in one piece was a tall one in the back of the yard, crafted from white marble and covered in moss.  
  
Up close, the grave was nearly as tall as I was. The one time snowy marble was weathered. Streaks of grey ran down the face of the stone, and the corners were eroding away. Moss, baked an olive brown by the heat, clung resolutely to cracks and ruts in the stone. Only a copper plaque, green with age, bore any sort of inscription, but even that had begun to wear away leaving only half of the words visible. And there at the top? Pulling away some of the moss, I brushed away the remaining dirt. As I did so, my fingers found a change in the surface of the stone. The remains of a carving, worn down until it was difficult to tell exactly what the subject of it had been. Then what about all of that moss at the bottom? Crouching down, I pulled away the moss. The marble underneath was bare, showing no signs of ever having been touched. Three feet of blank stone, and then an inscription.  
  
Confused, I stepped back. Whoever this had been made to honor that person had been important, obviously. So then why all of the empty space?  
  
"It was supposed to be a joint grave."  
  
I jumped. I had been so involved in examining the stone that I hadn't heard Ry approaching. He stood near the end of the last row of graves, watching me. Or rather, looking pat me at the gravestone. Realizing that must I have spoken my thoughts aloud, I turned back to the grave far too late to cover my surprise. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Her husband was meant to have been buried next to her."  
  
"Oh." I glanced back at him. "How do you know?"  
  
"I asked the residing priest here once. She was one of the dragoons I told you about. For a time, anyway. Her spirit was passed over to another part way through her journey." His expression tightened. "The cult has it now."  
  
Again, "Oh." And then, "What do you mean 'supposed' to have been buried with her? Why wasn't he?"  
  
For a second, Ry's expression flickered. "Disgraced himself. He left the village after that. No one knows what happened to him."  
  
Taking the sleeve of my shirt, I rubbed hard at the copper plaque. Some of the engraving was almost readable if you guessed at the missing letters. Breathing on it, I gave it another rub. Then a thought occurred to me. "Was he a dragoon too?"  
  
"Yes. " Ry hesitated, fiddling with his sling. "Feld, he carried the same spirit you do now." Turning quietly on heel, he started toward back toward the church at a brisk walk. I gave the plaque one last look before shaking my head. No amount of polishing would ever reveal all of the letters. Beating the dirt off of my knees, I touched the stone beneath my shirt to make sure it was still there before following.  
  
I found Ry again on the street outside of the church, asking a passing merchant wearing a flamboyantly colored robe for directions to the nearest physician. The merchant, a round balding man whose wide face was greasy with perspiration, mopped at his brow with a smudged white handkerchief. "Physician, hmm? You'll be wanting to seek out Kenneth Whyle, in the brick house on the second street. He's not too bad, but you might have some problems getting in to see him. He's the only real healer for miles around, so you get all sorts coming to him with breaks and aliments." He shifted his weight, taking measure of us. "I hope you have a goodly amount of coin on you though. Ken charges a healthy price."  
  
Ry inclined his head slightly to the other man. "My thanks. I didn't happen to catch your name?"  
  
"Trebel Swin."  
  
"Then again, my thanks, Mister Swin." He watched as the merchant walked away, bright robes straining over his bulk. His expression went slightly blank, then he turned away chuckling quietly to himself. "The second street, huh? You wouldn't happen to have any idea where that is, would you?"  
  
"You're the one who was supposed to have been here before," I pointed out, falling in step beside him. "You better hope you have enough to pay for that healer's fees, because that stunt with the wagon just about finished me."  
  
"You were the one who agreed to pay," he shrugged, "I mentioned no such thing." A cart rumbled by, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Stifling a coughing fit, he covered his mouth and nose with his hand. "I think the second street should be near the outskirts along the eastern end. I noticed coming into the village that most of the businesses seem to be located in that area."  
  
Finding the brick house wasn't too difficult. The second street wasn't really a street in the normal sense of the word. Near the very edge of the village a few shops and inns clustered together informally, separated from the rest of the village's main body by a fat strip of land and the nearly dried up creek bed. A string of dun colored tents was pitched in a lopsided line that ran past the buildings and completing the 'street'. A few mules picketed to spikes in the hard ground, doe-soft muzzles lipping the ground as they tried to find what was left of the wiry grass that still grew. The tents were the temporary residences of the wagon drivers and the few unfortunate merchants who could not afford better; the mules probably belonged to the farmers coming in from farther out in the countryside.  
  
Crossing the narrow wooden bridge over the creek, Ry stopped and groaned. The physician's was not difficult to spot, even though it wasn't the only brick building along the road. A heavy wooden sign hung from rusted iron framework, depicting very poorly a man covered in bandages from head to foot. But what really marked it out from the rest was the small crowd of moaning and miserable people waiting in the heat outside the narrow door.  
  
Grinning, I clapped one hand on his good shoulder. All of a sudden I felt much better about being tricked into paying Han for the lift. "Nasty. Well, I'm going to grab a drink or two. Try not to fry your brains out waiting." Not giving him a chance to respond I strolled away, whistling to myself. Much, much better.  
  
There was an inn near the end of the street, close to where the tents were pitched. Long and squat, it looked considerably newer than the rest of the buildings along the street. That was to say that the stucco whitewash had only acquired a moderate layer of dust and the red-brown paint on the door had only just begun to peel from exposure to the sun. The shutters of the windows had been thrown open in hope of catching a breeze; the spicy smell of frying foods wafted out into the streets. I kneaded the pit of my stomach with my fist, the scent of ginger and pork reminding me that I hadn't eaten since we had broke camp early that morning. Maybe the ale could wait, just a little while. I glanced back over my shoulder at Ry, who had joined the throng milling around the physician's door. If he made it out before three in the morning, he could pay for the drinks.  
  
After walking through the dusty, sun bleached streets the common room of the inn was comparatively dim and cool. A few people sat at scrubbed tables, sipping barley water from thick clay mugs. A slim young woman with long white-blonde hair moved gracefully from customer to customer, refilling their mugs from a pewter pitcher. She wore a light grey dress, slit up the front to show the deep blue silk skirt and shirt she wore beneath. Between one table and the next she paused fractionally and glanced in my direction, a curious expression on her face.  
  
"Hey, buddy! You're blocking the door!"  
  
With a start, I realized that I had been staring. Feeling my face flush slightly, I moved out of the way. Or rather, was forced out of the way as a tall, eagle-eyed woman with iron-grey hair and a regal bearing about her bulled her way past me with her arms wrapped around a sack of flour.  
  
"Well? Are you just going to stand there all day gaping like an idiot? If you want to be served, grab a chair and sit down." Giving me a hard look, the eagle-eyed woman swept away.  
  
Hastily I did as I was told, but stood up again almost immediately. Ducking out of my shoulder belt, I propped my sword up against the table before sitting back down again. Soa, why did I have to be such an idiot? Keeping my eyes resolutely on the tabletop, I didn't look up as a clay mug filled with barley water was set down on the table before me. When I finally risked raising my eyes again, the serving woman was no where to be seen. Exhaling, I reached for the mug and took a cautious sip. The ground barley floating about in it gave it an odd taste, but it had been sweetened with sugar and it was cool. Not what I would have chosen to drink, but- I took another sip- it wasn't all that bad.  
  
I had almost finished my first mug when the sound of commotion of some sort came from behind the door I assumed led to the kitchens. The other patrons at the tables paused with their forks halfway to their mouths as the sound of clattering pans and raised voices echoed through the room.  
  
"Quick, someone grab the child! Before she- Rem! Get her away from-!" The voice I recognized as belonging to the eagle-woman was lost in a child's happy shriek, followed by something that sounded something like a muffled 'woomph'. Moments later the door to the kitchen swung open and a little girl covered head to toe in flour ran squealing into the room, leaving a trail of powdery footprints on the floor behind her. Skidding to a halt in the middle of the room her eyes darted back and forth as she scanned the room, presumably for a place to hide. Her eyes swept over me indiscriminately then snapped back as she did a noticeable double take. And with a shriek that made me cringe, she flung herself on me.  
  
"ZION!"  
  
Between floury kisses, I managed to get my hands around the child's lap and lift her up onto the table, though it was no easy task. With much of the flour now transferred from her face to my shirt and hair, I realized who I was looking at it. "Tabby? Tab, what are you doing here?"  
  
"Zion?!" Feeling rather stunned, I looked up in time to see Remmy bustle into the room, hands on her hips. In a heartbeat she had swept across the room and caught me by the ear, forcing me to my feet. With a happy little yelp Tabby sprung from the tabletop to my shoulders and hung there while Remmy dragged me unceremoniously toward the kitchens, still holding tight to my earlobe.  
  
The kitchen was a large room with a low ceiling and narrow windows covered by slatted shutters. A heavy iron oven filled with hot coals occupied the far wall; thick slabs of meat sizzling and spitting in blackened pans on the stovetop. Thick earthen spice pots hung on hooks above it, where someone working the stove could easily reach them. Long curved chopping knives rested on the rack of a nearby shelf, next to a fat pot that a child could easily have used as a bathtub. Scarred worktables stretched the length of the room; large wooden barrels filled with this and that lying partially hidden beneath them. Three or four women wearing blue checked aprons bustled to and fro between the tables and the oven, carrying armloads of skinned potatoes and carrots, sidestepping a heap of flour in the middle of the floor. The woman I had seen serving the tables outside earlier crouched over it, her face fixed in a frown as she tried to scoop the powdery mess back into a burst burlap sack. Unfortunately, I didn't get much more of a chance to look around.  
  
"Ow, ow, ow, OUCH! Remmy, let go!" Pulling painfully away from her grip as she shut the kitchen door behind her, I rubbed my ear and glared at her. "Nice to see you too! Aren't you even happy I made it out of there with my hide intact?"  
  
"Oh course I am you big lug!" Returning my glare, she pulled Tabby down from my shoulders and sat her down on the floor. "Just not here!"  
  
"What's wrong with here?" I retorted, feeling a little sullen. I knew she was a motherly sort of woman, but dragging me around by my ears? I was twenty-five for crying out loud! Straightening up, I hit my head on the low beams of the ceiling.  
  
Looking up at us from the floor, Tabby laughed again and scampered off past her mother. Patting her daughter's head absently as she passed, Remmy fixed me with a hard look. "I hope for your own sake that you've only just arrived." When I nodded a confirmation, some of the tension seemed to leave her. "Good. If you're lucky, you may have escaped notice."  
  
I eased around until my back was to a flour-covered stool. Sitting down, I rubbed the top of my head gently. "Huh? What do you mean?"  
  
"A patrol of guardsmen came through here yesterday," she said, "looking for you. They moved on north this morning, but they left behind a half dozen men." Her face softened. "Zion, what happened in Kazas? They won't stop cautioning people about how dangerous you are, but they won't give any reasons."  
  
My mind spun. "What? They're here already?" Stupid of me. There was more than one road to Seles, and the pigeons between temples had probably been as thick as a swarm of bees the night of my escape. Of course they had beaten us to Seles. "I mean, well, uh-" I shook my head, then brushed the hair back from my face. "Remmy, it's probably better if you didn't know. Safer, I mean. For both of us," I added, as her face clouded. "I'm still trying to come to terms with it."  
  
Remmy gave me a long look, then finally turned away. "I guess if you say so," she said resignedly. Plucking Tabby up off the floor, she passed her to me. "You probably won't be staying here for long, then, will you?" Without waiting for an answer she dusted her hands off on her apron and picked up a chopping knife. Moving to the nearest table, she began chopping carrots with quick, rocking motions. "At least get a decent meal while you're here. And I'll talk to Faye; if we have a free room tonight, you could probably use that as well."  
  
"Faye?" I asked, disentangling Tabby's hands from my hair.  
  
"She owns the inn with her daughter. Faye was kind enough to hire me on as a cook."  
  
"You'll do well with that, then."  
  
"Don't flatter me, Zion. Just find an out of the way spot and sit quietly and wait." She half-turned. "Mariko, dear? There should be a ridiculously oversized sword at the table where Zion was sitting. Would you be kind enough to retrieve it before anyone starts asking questions?"  
  
The serving woman hefted the bag of ruined flour up onto one of the tables. Blowing a few long strands of white-blonde hair out of her eyes, she nodded to Remmy and slipped out of the kitchen. I glanced over at Remmy. "Mariko?"  
  
"Faye's daughter. She's a mute, poor thing." Pushing the chopped carrots aside, she reached for a wrinkled turnip. "Her father was a wingly, apparently."  
  
"She's a part bred?" Accepting a steaming plate of what looked like some sort of meat pie from one of the cooks, I picked up a fork and dug in. I burned my tongue a little with the first bite, but was too hungry to care. Besides, it tasted good.  
  
I finished my meal in silence, listening to the chatter of the other cooks. Mariko came back in carrying my sword in both hands, the weapon actually taller than she was. Propping it up in the corner of the room, she took her pewter jug from where she had left it and disappeared back out into the main room. The next to come in was the eagle-eyed woman, whom by the way Remmy deferred to her I assumed that she must have been Faye. They spoke together quietly for a time, their words not reaching my ears over the clatter of dishes. At last they seemed to come to some sort of an agreement and Remmy bobbed a quick curtsy to the other woman before coming over to me.  
  
"Faye said that there's a room left near the end of the hall. It's a little on the small side, but it should serve. Now go pick up that log- chopper of yours, before it falls over and breaks someone's foot. Tabby can show you to your room." Tabby, who had been sitting on the table munching on the crust of my pie, hopped down onto the floor and grabbed my arm. "C'mon Zion. Bedtime for you!" Pulling me along as I tried to get the strap of my sword belt over my head, she led me out into the main room.  
  
The common room was crowded with people now, most of the tables occupied by merchants and tired looking villagers. The buzz of conversation filled the air, accompanied by the clink of knives against plates. Lamps burned along the walls, the wax candles inside them sending off almost no smoke. For the most part no one paid us any mind as we passed, but just before we reached the door to the hallway I noticed Ry seated at a corner table. He must have been quick at the physician's.  
  
"Tab, hold on for a minute, will you?" Tugging my arm from her grasp, I wove my way through the maze of tables until I reached the dark man. Ry didn't look up as I approached, but he kicked a chair out from the table. Taking the hint, I sat, "You were quick."  
  
He made a face. "I think that idiot charged extra for every bandage he used. The price is right, and I can hardly move my torso for being wrapped in the stuff." Taking a drink from his mug, he glanced over at me and lowered his voice. "I found you a fight, by the way."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You wanted a chance to try out your spirit again, correct? There's a village to the north, near the limestone caves. It's been infested by Urbolis. That's why there were so many injured waiting to get into Whyle's."  
  
"Urbolis? What are they?"  
  
"Huge serpents. They don't usually come out of the caves though, is what puzzles me." He stared into his mug, swilling the contents around in the bottom. "Anyway, it's something that needs to be dealt with. You'd better make sure you get some sleep tonight."  
  
I grunted. "There's guardsmen in the village by the way. Came yesterday."  
  
Ry nodded grimly. "I thought as much. I'll take care of them if anything needs to be done. You just go get some rest."  
  
  
  
If I spelt Urbolis wrong, someone please tell me. Spelling is not my strong point, and my spell checker obviously will tell me that anything out of a video game is spelt wrong. -.- 


	37. Urobolus

Shade: **typing madly on the floor with her sister's pet rabbit running in circles around her laptop** Urgh! I can figure out what to do another fifteen chapters or so into the story, but can I figure out what to do in the present? NO! I did, however, find my Meteora CD.  
  
Urobolus! I knew I spelt it wrong! ^-^ My thanks to Sword Master Jeff, Pyrostriker, and anyone else who may have set me right.  
  
'-' means someone is cut off mid-sentence '-word-' is used for emphasis  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
The dawn was still a faint grey smudge on the eastern horizon when we rode out of Seles early the next morning. Or at least, Zion rode. Horses were not something readily available in the village and those that were for sale where well and truly out of my price range. Zion's mount had been returned to him by Remmy, the same lantern-nosed animal that had nearly run me over in Kazas nearly a week ago. Maybe I would be able to trade in some of my spare equipment for a horse at one of the farms dotting the prairies, but until then I was stuck on foot. Heading northward over the hills surrounding the village, we should reach the edge of the prairies by late morning.  
  
That was, if Zion didn't run me into the ground first.  
  
"You mind slowing down a bit?" I growled through clenched teeth. Halfway between a jog and a run, I fought to keep even with Zion's stirrup as he trotted his mount up the side of a long grassy hill. After nearly an hour of alternately jogging, walking, running, and jogging again, my lungs felt as though they were about to burst. Grasshoppers appeared and vanished underfoot, startled from hiding as we ran over them. "I'm not going to be able to teach you anything if I'm dead from exhaustion."  
  
Cresting the hill, the horse's steady gate didn't break. Posting to the rough trot, Zion looked smug. "Think of it as some healthy exercise." Below us the land gradually leveled out, the low hills stretching out into a rolling plain. Dark copses of trees dotted the waving grassland, and off to the east a small lake reflected the early morning sky.  
  
I stumbled, but somehow stayed on my feet. "You're still sore at me for making you pay for that cart aren't you?" I wheezed.  
  
"Whatever gave you that idea?"  
  
//Smart mouth// Ark noted. //Why don't you gag him?//  
  
/I might, if I could reach him/ I grumbled. "Maybe I'll just leave you to deal with the Urobolus by yourself."  
  
"I don't think you'd do that, somehow." Taking the reins in one hand, he half-turned in the saddle to look at the rolling countryside around us. "Just hard luck on your part. Hey, how do you feel about a bit of a canter?"  
  
Shooting him a sour glare, I jerked my sword roughly from its scabbard and slapped his horse hard across the rump with the flat of the blade. With a startled squeal the animal exploded down the far side of the hill, bucking and leaping with Zion clinging to the pommel of the saddle for dear life as he was tossed about.  
  
As I doubled over to suck in gulps of air, Ark watched the pair thunder away. //That's one way of doing it, I suppose//  
  
/It seemed suitable/ Still gasping for breath, I sheathed my sword and watched with a small amount of satisfaction as Zion finally lost his grip and was pitched head over heels into the branches of a gnarled old apple tree at the bottom of the hill. /That can't be comfortable/  
  
//That's his problem, isn't it?//  
  
/I guess so/ I said, starting off down the hill again. Now that it had rid itself of its rider the horse had seemed to have settled some. He stood not far from the tree where Zion had managed to lodge himself, cropping grass while its short ears flicked back and forth. As I approached he raised its head warily, chewing slowly on its cud and watching me with dark, liquid eyes. When I had come close enough that I could reach out and touch him he snorted softly, then dropped his neck again and began pulling up clods of dying grass with his flat teeth. Rubbing the horse's shoulder, I happened to glance down at the ground. Still attached to the bridle, the leather reins had been snapped in two during the animal's run. Picking them up with my good hand, I stared blankly at them for a moment before sighing and setting one between my teeth. /Damn you, Ayrel/ Fumbling with the end of the other rein, I started tying them into a knot.  
  
Zion, looking rather scratched and battered from his experience with the tree, came shambling over as I swung up into the saddle. His left eye was blackened and decidedly puffy looking, swollen partially shut. Coupled with the old scars that already marred that side of his face, it gave him the general air of someone who had just come off second best in a street brawl. In spite of this, his already worn clothes had survived with nothing more to show for the encounter than a small rip in one shirtsleeve and a few smudges of dirt on his knees. Tugging at the leather bound hilt of his sword, he glared up at me, albeit a bit lopsidedly. Pretending not to notice, I nudged the gelding into a walk while Zion fell into step beside us. For whatever reason, he kept his mouth shut.  
  
/I think he's starting to learn/ I noted.  
  
Ark snorted. //He's going to slow us down if you make him walk. Help him boost his spirit energy and let him fly for a bit. He'll need the practice before he has to fight again//  
  
/You're inconsistent/ I complained.  
  
//You're worse than children. If you're mad at someone, you kill them. If they piss you off and you need them for something, you put up with it. If you two idiots keep trying to inconvenience one another, then we'll never find Ayrel//  
  
With a sigh I pulled my mount up short. As much as I enjoyed the thought of Zion chasing after a galloping horse, Ark did have a point. Dropping the reins onto the pommel, I kicked my feet free from the stirrups and slid to the ground. Zion took a step back as I did so, arching an eyebrow slightly. "What, you spend all that time complaining, and now you want to walk again?"  
  
"Hardly." Jerking the horse's head up from the grass, I led him back to the apple tree and wrapped the reins around a branch. The last thing I needed now was to have the horse frightened off when Zion transformed. Picking a spot, I led Zion to a patch of bare ground perhaps a hundred meters off. It was in a slight hollow, so whatever happened would be shielded enough as not to scare the horse. Pushing back the flap of my coat, I pulled my sword free from its sheath. "I hope you don't have any reserves about fighting someone with a handicap, Zion."  
  
"Not really." He replied cautiously. "Why?"  
  
"If you're going to learn to fight as a dragoon, you're going to have to learn to fly properly first. Remember what I told you about spirit energies?" I waited for his nod, then continued. "With out it, you can't complete a transformation properly. Spirit energy is derived from the tension that you build up while in combat. For a normal person that doesn't mean anything, but for you, the more you fight as a human the faster you'll be able to fight as a dragoon. Got it? Then attack me. Like you mean it."  
  
Zion's POV:  
  
Ry circled wide, his silver inlaid blade held low and glinting in the warm morning sunlight. Reaching back over my shoulder, I grabbed the hilt of my own sword and hauled it roughly out of its slit sheath. Normally swords as big as the one I use are meant to be carried in wagons and such; they aren't really designed to be drawn from a sheath. Human arms just aren't long enough to pull the last foot or so out of the casing. To counter this, I had made a long slit in the leather at the mouth of the sheath, just over a foot in length. It was still a pain in the ass to draw, but it was an improvement. Taking my weapon in both hands I pivoted slowly, following Ry's progress as he circled. In spite of whatever I may have said, I didn't really feel right putting everything I had against him, injured as he was. Maybe if I held back just a bit-  
  
Without warning Ry cut into the circle, dipping low and bringing his sword upward in a flashing arc. I twisted the hilt so that the strike rebounded off of the crosstrees, but he moved with it, sidestepping around me and slapping me roughly with the flat of his blade on the arm as he passed. Spinning about to face him again I swung across vertically, angling the hilt so that the flat of my blade was angled toward his shoulder. He ducked slightly, allowing it to pass harmlessly overhead before striking at me again with the flat, this time catching me hard across both shinbones before springing away.  
  
As I gasped and stumbled back, pain blossoming up through my legs, Ry shook his head. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't hold back? We'll be here all day if you keep using clumsy attacks like those ones."  
  
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to stop shifting my weight and stand steadily. Ry nodded as I raised my sword before me again, this time taking the short stance that I customarily used in the arena. "Good. Now don't hold back this time; I'm not going to use the flat of my blade anymore."  
  
It went on for nearly ten minutes before Ry judged it enough. Chest heaving from exertion, I grounded the tip of my blade and leaned heavily on the crosstrees. Thin cuts crisscrossed my arms and back, and I could feel a large bruise starting to form over part of my ribcage. The cuts stung as sweat mixed with blood, the morning sun suddenly seeming ten times hotter than it had a few minutes earlier. A few paces away Ry, breathing hard and his bandanna damp with sweat, wiped the tip of his blade in the grass before returning it to its scabbard. A single cut high on his cheek seeped blood, next to a second, older scar. The one blow I had managed to land during the entire fight, and it was hardly more than a scratch. And worse yet, from the slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, I was beginning to suspect that -he- had been the one playing around. Spitting bitterly on the ground, I shook my head. I had though I was good with a sword, but Ry was on a completely different level altogether. "Looks like I have a long way to go yet," I muttered, half to myself.  
  
"Huh?" Ry looked up from rummaging through his coat pockets. In one hand he held a fluted glass bottle, half-filled with a thick blue liquid. Pulling out the stopper with his teeth, he dampened the end of his sleeve with the healing potion before replacing it and tossing it over. "Here, patch yourself up a bit." Suiting actions to words he began to gingerly dab potion onto his cut.  
  
Working out the cork, I followed suit. The shallow cuts and scratches mended themselves almost instantly, while the bruise took a bit longer. Tucking the empty bottle away, I returned my sword to its sheath. Shrugging my shoulders once or twice to settle the belt into a more comfortable position, I pulled the little string bag from around my neck and popped my spirit out onto my palm. It flickered briefly when my fingers touched it before returning to its normal state. "So what am I supposed to do with it now?"  
  
Ry gave me an odd look. "Do you see me using a dragoon spirit? I already told you everything I know about transformations. Just try to remember what it felt like the last time."  
  
"It hurt." I said blandly, but I rubbed the smooth stone nervously. My memories of the events of that night in Kazas were a little fuzzy at best; recalling anything that may have triggered the transformation was next to impossible. So I was essentially working blind. Ry hadn't told me much about transforming, except that with time a sort of link would form between the spirit and my mind that would make the shift from one form to the other second nature. But until I managed to form the link, there had to be another way. Closing my eyes, I tried to relax. What had it felt like? Well, it hurt. Still with my eyes closed, I frowned. No, if I didn't want it to hurt, then it shouldn't. It had been hot certainly, but I hadn't actually been burned.  
  
There was a slow heat in my hand and I snapped my eyes open. The spirit had flared up again, hot enough to make the late summer heat seem like a mild spring morning. Ry nodded encouragingly. "Almost. Try it again."  
  
Shutting my eyes again, I tightened my grip on the spirit and tried to remember more. Armor. How had it formed? Unbidden, the image of liquid fire dripping from my limbs like water seeped into my mind. Yes, that much I could remember. It had hardened into the armor, light as cloth but harder than tempered steel. My sword had changed to suit the armor, but where had the wings come from? Where they a part of the armor, or were they actually sprouting from my back? Since it was impossible to tell, I shoved the question away and concentrated on what the armor had felt like as it formed.  
  
Without warning the spirit exploded into dazzling red-orange light. The air around me superheated, hotter than the depths of a blacksmith's forge. The ground at my feet erupted into flames that rippled up my legs and engulfed my body in a whirlwind of fire, white-hot and blistering as it licked at my face. Power raged through my veins, as shockingly cold as the air around me was boiling, pulsing and growing until I remember being sure that it would rip me apart from the inside out. Caught between ice and fire, I gritted my teeth and opened my eyes.  
  
And then as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The flames disappeared and the light with it, leaving purple blotches to slide across my vision whenever I blinked. The tide of power warmed and receded, until it was little more than a faint tingling at the edge of my awareness. Blood still pounding in my ears, I glanced down. The armor was there the same as before, dark crimson, graven and inlayed and surmounted by a fist sized green gem. Inexplicably my sword had left its sheath and now rested in my hand. Reaching back over my shoulder I could feel where wings seemed to sprout out from the base of my neck.  
  
"Good enough." Ry tugged at a shock of hair thoughtfully. "Don't try anything too erratic at first, and try to time it so that you land before your spirit runs dry. Other than that, you're going to have to figure out flying for yourself, I'm afraid. I'm not going to be much help there."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"I'm going to take your horse and head north. Just follow the road as best as you can until you reach the mountains to the northwest. You probably have enough spirit energy to get that far at least."  
  
"Then what?" I stretched out my wings, looking back over my shoulder at them curiously. They were quite large really, and the gossamer membrane caught the sunlight like frosted glass.  
  
"Find somewhere out of the heat, sit and wait. It'll probably take me the rest of the day to get that far on horseback." He squinted up at the sun. "Probably around sundown, I'd say. Watch for me. And try to stay out of sight for as long as you're a dragoon." Shifting his sword, he started back in the direction of my horse. "Oh, and try not to break your neck when you land. You're not exactly graceful."  
  
In spite of Ry's warnings, flying was not half as difficult as he'd made it sound. By comparison to using the red-eye spirit, it actually felt natural. Leveling out at two thousand feet or so, I tried to reorient myself in relation to the ground below, wings beating the thin air steadily as I turned in a slow circle. The hilly landscape had shrunk into miniscule, patchy stretches of yellowed grasses broken up by brown-green bluffs of trees and the occasional few acres of tilled brown farmland. Far off to my west lay the purple-grey slopes of the Serdian mountain range, the bushy forest at its base still steeped in early morning shadow. Seles was several miles off to the south, a tiny cluster of buildings nestled in between the low hills surrounding it. Further off still, the sea glimmered in the sunlight, appearing glassy and calm in the distance. Directly below me the road cut through the center of it all, like a dusty brown snake winding lazily from horizon to horizon. Follow the road, had he said? Wedging my sword into a niche in the hip of my armor, I took off to where the road began to angle toward the mountains, leaving a trail of red-gold sparks falling in my wake.  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
/I don't see him anywhere. You don't think he crashed, do you?/  
  
//How in hell should I know?// I growled. Beneath me, my lathered mount squealed and tried to shy away again. Irritably, I jerked hard on the reins. Dart and I had shifted control back and forth several times that day, and yet the horse persisted in acting up whenever I was in the saddle. While this was nothing new to me, it still didn't change the fact that it was incredibly annoying. The only useful thing about this was that the gelding would run for me as it would for no human, out of stark terror if nothing else. As a result we had reached the mountain's shadow with a good hour to spare before sunset, though the exhausted horse still reared and spooked as though it was fresh from the stall. //You did tell him to look out for us, didn't you?//  
  
/Yeah. He should be around here somewhere/ Dart fell silent, scanning the countryside around us.  
  
//I hope he had the sense to wait for us before going off trying to find the Urobolus. Young idiot like that probably would//  
  
/I think he has more sense than that/ Dart argued.  
  
//Not much// I said bluntly. //At his age, I know that you would've, and I have a little bit more faith in him than I did for you at the time//  
  
/Thanks for sharing/ Dart replied dryly. He lapsed into silence again as we continued along the road, the horse alternately plodding and bolting at erratic intervals. Another dusty mile passed without notice, and the road begun to make the slow ascent from the prairies into the foothills. A soft breeze smelling heavily of hay whispered through the grasses on either side of the road, causing them to bend and sway; from the hillside looking out over the plains, it resembled a heaving, brown-golden sea. Though by no means cool, the breeze did provide a bit of momentary relief from the baking heat. Pulling up my mount near a bluff at the crest of the hill, I dismounted. //We can stop here. The kid's just have to come and find us when he gets hungry//  
  
/You sure?/  
  
"Stop that!" I snapped aloud. The gelding, which had been snorting and jerking on the reins froze, eyes wild. //Of course I'm sure. Even if he were born in a city, he'd have to be daft not to recognize the light from a campfire// Stomping my feet on the ground once or twice to recover some of the feeling, I headed toward the small grove of bent birch and alder several yards off of the road. After a moment of hesitation, the horse followed suit, head held high and snorting anxiously with each step.  
  
/Ark? Look to the northwest for a moment, will you?/ Dart said suddenly, a note of urgency creeping into his thoughts.  
  
//Company?// I asked, half-turning.  
  
/Maybe/ While when not in total control both Dart and I could still 'see', though not in the normal sense of the word. In order to see anything clearly at all, the body itself had to be looking at it. Scanning the horizon, I frowned. //Where?//  
  
/You're looking too far off. See where the land sort of breaks up a couple of miles to the north? Near the foot of the hills?/  
  
Still frowning, I looked where he directed. The land did look broken up, with ridges of grey-white limestone jutting out of the earth like crooked teeth. An old fissure, a remnant of an old caved-in mine shaft perhaps, split the ground between them. In truth, the actual geography of the area meant little to me, but one does tend to take note of such things. The real concern was the thick dust cloud slowly rising up from where the road curved between them.  
  
Cursing, I jerked the horse's reins and dragged him into the bluff. Whoever was raising that dust cloud, they were lost amid the outcroppings. And while that meant that there was no way that they could have seen us, even on a hilltop, it also meant that there was no way that we could see them either.  
  
The bluff wasn't very large, hardly an acre at best, but the trees and undergrowth were dense enough that anything near the back or center of the grove would be invisible to anyone passing by on the road. Tying the reins around the trunk of a sturdy looking alder, I pulled down Zion's small pack from the saddle skirt and loosened the sweaty girth. Satisfied, I returned to the edge of the grove closest to the road and crouched down behind a screen of withering shrubs to wait.  
  
I wasn't kept long. After five or six minutes the steady rumble of hoof beats reached my ears and the ground began to tremble, though it was so slight at first that I almost didn't feel it. The breeze changed from refreshing to choking, filling the air with the dust pounded from the road by scores of hooves. Pulling the bandana down over my mouth and nose to try to avoid breathing it in, I narrowed my eyes as the first of them came trotting past. I knew the bestial forms riding warily on the brown-black mounts far too well.  
  
/Dread knights/ Dart growled testily. /What are they doing all of the way out here?/  
  
I said nothing. The knight leading the column wore a helm fashioned to resemble the head of a boar, complete with upturned tusks jutting from the protruding face guard. The rest of the armor was the standard, angular design, but the silken green tabard emblazoned with Ayrel's crest tied over the breastplate was far cry from normal. A short cape of the same design hung down his back, limp and covered in dust from travel. In the dread knight corps, each of the three countries is home to fifty knights, twelve of which hold discernable rank. Six sergeants, three captains, two commanders, and one grand commander, or something to that effect. The grand commander rarely leaves the side of the High Priest, so I judged that the man riding past must have been one of the two commanders. //Interesting. Someone in Seles must have sent a pigeon when we arrived//  
  
/They're looking for Zion. Recognize the second knight?/ Dart asked.  
  
I frowned slightly, trying to remember. The curious, griffin-like helm was familiar, though where exactly I had seen it before eluded me. //Refresh my memory//  
  
Dart sighed. /When Zion first transformed in Kazas, he was facing off against him, I'm positive. I thought the spell he got hit with must have killed him, but either the spell wasn't as strong as I thought, or he's a tough one/  
  
//Wonderful// I growled. The rest of the column was passing by now, but the stony-faced men riding iron-backed in the saddles were low ranking guardsmen. And judging from the bags under their eyes and the stubble covering their chins, they'd ridden through the night, and probably most of the day as well. //They must be patrolling the area. Unless the temple sent them to deal with the Urobolus?//  
  
/Maybe/ Dart didn't sound convinced.  
  
As the last man trotted by, a thought occurred to me. //How much would you miss our dear commander up there at the front?//  
  
/Not much/  
  
//How much do you think the temple would miss him?//  
  
Dart's answering laugh was surprisingly vicious. /They're in a column, Ark. One good shot at the commander and the rest of them will get caught in it as well/  
  
//I guess that's just hard luck on their part// I replied with vast insincerity. The entire column was on the hillside now, but the leaders would reach the bottom soon. If the shot were to work, then it would have to be made now. Bracing myself for the transformation, I had half risen to my feet when I heard a twig snap behind me. Automatically my hand went to my sword, whipping it free from its sheath as I spun around and lashed out at chest height.  
  
Zion yelped and jumped back, the singing tip of the blade missing his ribcage by millimeters. "Hey, get a grip! It's just me!"  
  
With a snarl, I jammed my blade back into its sheath and Zion took a step back. The window of opportunity had shut. With him here, I couldn't let myself risk the transformation. "Where the hell where you?!" With a tremendous effort I managed to keep my voice down just above a whisper, remembering at the last minute that we weren't alone.  
  
"Looking for you!" He hissed back angrily, but his eyes flickered uncertainly. "You sure took your time getting here," he muttered in a more normal tone of voice. "I've been dodging that patrol all day, and that's not as easy as it sounds."  
  
"Look faster next time!" I snapped. //Your turn. If I stay out any longer, I think that I'll end up killing him// The patrol had reached the bottom of the hill now, fanning out as they cantered onto the plains. Still fuming at the lost opportunity, I brushed past Dart and retreated to a quiet corner of his consciousness. Humans!  
  
Zion's eyebrows rose as we switched, and Dart rubbed his forehead to try to cover the moment. He may not have known what it meant, but the kid had noticed something at least. Moderating his tone much more than I had, Dart kept his eyes on the ground. "Just. don't do that again. I don't like being surprised."  
  
If his eyebrows had managed to climb any higher they would have been lost in his hairline, but Dart ignored Zion's look. Pushing past, he tugged absently at the knot in his sling. "Did you find your horse? No? You'd better go see to him then; we had a hard ride today."  
  
Zion's POV:  
  
By the time we finally set out again the mountain's shadow had stretched over several miles of the plains and the sky to the west had faded to a pastel pinkish-orange. A few rare clouds had drifted onto the horizon, thin, wispy things that looked little more than a tiny white smudge against the rest of the sky. They would bring no rain, yet. For the next week at least, the only clouds that the villagers in Seles would be seeing would be dust clouds. Overhead a lone hawk wheeled about in a tight circle, calling out stridently before sheering off toward the brown-grey mountain slopes.  
  
The temperature was falling with the sun, but it was still cool only in comparison with the heat of midday. Tying my overshirt to the back of the saddle, I patted my mount on the shoulder before leading him out of the grove and onto the hill after Ry. Sweat curled and matted the gelding's coat, and he plodded along slowly at the end of the lead, but at least his breathing had returned to normal. For now he'd just have to be led rather than ridden, until he recovered some of his lost energy. Ry stood halfway down the hill, scanning the waving grasses with his good hand on his sword hilt. He didn't turn as I approached, but directed his words back over his shoulder instead. "The village is just a few miles to the north of here, then?"  
  
"Yeah." I rubbed my ear. Actually, I'd overshot this morning and had to walk ten miles back to the road on foot after my spirit had given out. I'd passed the village on my way, but had resisted the impulse to check it out on my own. "The place looked pretty quiet."  
  
"Urobolus are used to living in caves. They probably wouldn't come out in the daytime." Taking his hand from the sword, he let it hang at his side. "Keep an eye out for that patrol. They may decide to set up camp for the night, but if they don't I don't want to run into any surprises."  
  
"Don't you?" I said, but under my breath. I remembered the hungry look I'd seen on his face earlier as the patrol had ridden past. Something told me that he'd like nothing better than to stumble on their camp and take his chances at them, no matter how suicidal it was. Personally, I was just as happy to stay clear of them. I'd seen them ride past more than once today, and I'd recognized the second dread knight all too well. Soltrane didn't seem quite as inclined to kill me as the other dread knights; at least, he'd planned on giving me a trial rather than killing me on the spot as the others would have done; but I still didn't want to meet him again with a full patrol at his back, dragoon spirit or no dragoon spirit. Clicking to my gelding to try to coax him into moving a few paces faster, I trailed a few strides behind Ry. With luck, the patrol would be far from the biggest problem we'd face tonight. A few moments after the thought flitted through my head, I frowned. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?  
  
` In spite of being on foot, the few miles passed quickly and before the last of the colors had fled the western sky we found ourselves on another hillside, looking down into a sort of shallow valley. The nameless village sat in the bottom of the bowl, fourteen or fifteen small houses and outbuildings all clustered around a large, sheltered well. Plowed furrows covered the surrounding hillsides, growing everything from small withered cabbages to thick, healthy stalks of corn. There was no sign of movement in either the village or among the crops, save for the rustling corn leaves as the twilight breezes whispered through them. Strangely, this made me feel even more uncomfortable. I'm used to fighting things that I can see, and I don't like it when they're hidden from view.  
  
Ry glanced over at me. "You better let your horse go. He shouldn't stray too far, and he'll just be a nuisance if you bring him any closer."  
  
I grunted in agreement and set to work unbuckling the girth straps and lifting the saddle off of his back. Removing one of the reins from the bit, I knotted it around his neck so that I'd have something to grab hold of when I came for him later. Dumping the gear at the end of the nearest cornrow, I took a moment to draw my sword before returning to where Ry stood waiting. If I couldn't see any of the Urobolus until they attacked, then I wouldn't have any time to draw my sword either.  
  
We slipped into the village through the eastern end, cautiously making our way down the single 'street' with weapons drawn and at the ready. Ry's sword remained sheathed at his side but he carried a long dagger instead, holding the smudged blade carefully between three fingers of his right hand, ready to make a throw. I kept my sword resting against my shoulder, eyes darting about. Every shadow, and there were quite a few of them in the twilight, seemed to move and shift every time I started to look away. I half expect at any moment for something to leap out and sink its fangs into my shoulders and drag me down, but nothing ever moved, except in my imagination. The little settlement remained still; deathly quiet save for the soft sound of our boots scuffing on the hard ground. We searched the alleys, crept into the few small barns, and even peered into the windows of a few houses, but each was as empty as the next. Within fifteen minutes it was apparent that the village was completely deserted.  
  
Letting my blade slide home into its sheath, I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Avoiding a fight, any fight, is always a good thing, but I was sort of eager to try out the red-eye spirit in combat again. On the other hand, I was used to fighting people, not overgrown monsters. Whatever creatures I had rooted out earlier to help build up my spirit earlier today would be nothing in comparison to the Urobolus. Sitting on the lip of the stone well that the village seemed to be situated around, I cracked my knuckles and flexed my fingers once or twice. "So what now?"  
  
Ry paced back and forth in the dusty square that surrounded the well. He was not nearly as at ease as I, and still held the dagger between his fingers. "They're still here. They have to be."  
  
"Why? Maybe the guardsmen fought them off."  
  
"I seriously doubt that. The dread knights, maybe. But there'd be some signs of a fight left over, at least." He stopped to stare fixedly off into the darkness. "Maybe they come down from the mountains at night?" He mused, more to himself than to me.  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Look, if you're really that eager for a fight, then why don't you just go pick on the guardsmen? I'm sure that they'd be more than happy to accommodate you."  
  
Ry stopped and turned to glare at me, opening one mouth as he did so to deliver a retort. What he was going to say I never did find out, because at that precise moment a violent tremor ran through the earth, sending me sprawling face first onto the ground. It lasted for only a moment, but the echoes were still rumbling off of the surrounding hills when I pushed myself back to my feet. Ry was on one knee, examining the blood dripping from a gash in his forefinger. His knife lay in the dust next to him; it must have slipped when he went down. He stuck the finger in his mouth for a moment, then pulled it out and wiped it on his sleeve. "What was-"A second tremor shook the ground, cutting him off again. Panes of glass rattled in the windows of nearby houses, and an old wooden bucked tumbled off of someone's front porch to land with a crash in a dried up rain barrel.  
  
Before the last of the rumblings had faded Ry was back on his feet, plucking up his knife and backing away from the well. "They're underground." He kept his voice surprisingly quiet and level, but I could hear the note of urgency. "The mountains are a gigantic network of honeycombed caves, some of them extending out for miles in any direction. If the well extends into an underground lake, or if the bottom dropped out of it."  
  
Moving toward the houses, I drew my sword. "They're living underneath the village?"  
  
This time there was no tremor. Without warning water gushed over the sides of the well, splashing onto the ground. What followed was like something out of a nightmare.  
  
A blunt, shadowy head on a long thick neck emerged from the depths of the well, forked tongue flicking in and out as it tasted the air. Framed against the night sky, it didn't resemble the head of any snake I had ever before seen. A thin crest of spines bristled down the center of the face, and three bulbous golden eyes shone out from beneath a heavy ridge of bone. Water streaming and dripping down the scales of its back, the Urobolus started to slide out of the well, thirty feet of coiling, twisting serpent that was accompanied by a heavy, musky scent that made me want to gag. Unfortunately for me, the sound caught the monster's attention. With a hiss that sounded more like the scream of a child it dropped to the ground and rushed towards me with surprising speed. Readying my blade for a thrust, I braced myself for the collision.  
  
Ry, it seemed, had other ideas. When the snake was a bare three meters out of reach of my blade it suddenly seemed to collapse upon itself, squealing and hissing like a piglet, the thick black hilt of Ry's knife protruding from one ruined eye. Sword in hand, Ry followed, the bright blade flashing one, two, three times in the moonlight. The serpent shuddered and went limp, the back of its skull a wreck. Raising his sword again, Ry grinned. "That one was mine. Go on and change quickly, before her mate comes." Retrieving his knife, he disappeared into the shadow of the houses lining the square.  
  
More water came spilling over the sides of the well, and I forced myself to close my eyes. The change seemed to come easier that way, somehow. Reaching tentatively out to the spirit, I felt it answer back, power flooding through my body like a mountain river in the spring. Heat flared up, and I opened my eyes just in time to see the second Urobolus lunge forward from the well. I kicked off hard and the serpent passed beneath me, plowing into the front of the nearest house and collapsing the wall in an avalanche of splintered wood and broken building stone, effectively stunning him. Not wanting to miss the advantage, I dropped down to strike at the prone form.  
  
While I worked, two more Urobolus slipped from the mouth of the well, though these were smaller, only partially grown. Meaning that they were only twenty feet long, as opposed to the full thirty or forty. Jerking my blade free I took to the air again, mentally running over my options. Even if no more came out it was still one on three, and those were pretty heavy odds. I wasn't sure how much my being a dragoon leveled things out, but in the back of my mind I could already feel the spirit power channeled from the spirit ebbing, slipping away like sand in an hourglass. Energy was lost faster in combat than just flying; if I were to use a spell, then it would use up whatever strength I had left. One of the smaller serpents struck out at me, and I winged a little higher to avoid them. In the background I could see the adult slowly drawing itself from the ruins of the house. Sand in the hourglass. Whatever I did, it would have to be fast.  
  
As the snake struck again I flipped my blade around, bringing it up and across so that it slashed the creature across the roof of its mouth. It fell back with an agonized screech, its raised head leaving its throat dangerously exposed. A quick dart in and out coupled with two short slashes and it collapsed to the ground with a shiver, its long coils falling back over the opening of the well. Immediately the first fell I spun in mid air, lashing out at chest height. The second Urobolus, which had tried to strike from behind, caught the blow across the forehead, splitting the fine spines that adorned the face. It flinched back for a moment, then struck out again. Pain blossomed up through my right leg; four inch fangs pumped venom into my muscle; venom that was instantly counteracted by some vague workings of the red-eye spirit. As close as I was there was no room to wield the blade, so instead I used the heavy hilt as a club, hitting the serpent across the back of the neck with all of the strength I could muster. The pressure on my leg eased, but almost immediately the adult slammed into me from behind with such force that for a moment I lost my vision and was sent sprawling blindly to the ground. Lying there dazedly, I felt the last of the sand start to trickle into the bottom of the glass.  
  
Magic. How had I done magic before? Heaving myself onto my feet, I was vaguely aware of the two Urobolus slithering across the square toward me. Cripes, out of all of the things Ry hadn't been able to explain to me, magic had to have been one of them. Fire. Well, it had to involve that, obviously. Dimly, I recalled the ever-expanding circle of fire chasing down guardsmen back in Kazas. No. Not like that. But what if I could make it more focused?  
  
Drawing on the last of the spirit energy without really being aware of how I did it, I stretched one crimson gauntlet towards the snakes and released the spell.  
  
Wave upon wave of fire seemed to burst from the ground before me, hitting the two Urobolus head-on. This time there were no shrieks; the two monsters simply disappeared beneath the press of the flames. The fires continued on, rippling across the square and catching on the two houses directly across from me.  
  
Stumbling back with a sigh, I felt the armor dissolve. Pain flourished anew in my leg, but it felt strangely numb as sudden elation flowed through me. I'd done it. I had no idea in hell how I'd managed to, but I'd done it. I was so pleased with myself that I didn't hear Ry approach from the shadows, and jumped when he spoke.  
  
"Not bad. Could have done better, but I think it could have been much worse." He passed me a damp rag the smelt heavily of potions. "There. Stick that on your leg for a bit."  
  
Pulling up my pants leg I started to do just that, but at that moment an unfamiliar voice rang out unexpectedly from the direction of the burning houses.  
  
"DAMN!"  
  
Still clasping the cloth to my leg, I looked up. Someone was stalking across the square from largest of the burning houses, carrying a large bundle in her arms. She wasn't tall, even for a girl, and wore her black hair short, although it hung longer at the front. Dressed in tattered pants that had been ripped off at the knees, her dark red shirt and faded long blue vest seemed to be in only slightly better condition.  
  
She was also spouting a stream of curses that would have made a sailor blush.  
  
Without even glancing at the twisted, bloody Urobolus corpses lying across the ground, she stormed over and flung her bundle to the ground. It clattered as it struck, and through a small tear in the cloth I thought I saw a glint of gold. Pointing at it, she glared at me. "Do you have any idea of what that was?"  
  
"Uh-"  
  
"-That- was three days and nights worth of wandering around these bloody, goddess forsaken mountains! -That- was the only heap of stuff worth stealing anywhere short of Bale! And you know what? You just ruined it, you bloody flaming pyromaniac!" Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she scowled. "You just had to choose tonight to light things up, didn't you!"  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped back, recovering slightly from my initial shock of being bitched out by a total stranger. I jabbed a finger at the nearest serpent. "Those things were going to wreck the place!"  
  
"Oh, what, and that isn't?" She flung a hand back in the direction of the merrily burning houses. "You idiot, if you'd just have left them alone they wouldn't have done a thing!"  
  
"Yeah, right. Just try to kill anyone who passes through!"  
  
"They didn't try to kill me!"  
  
"Well you probably came in the day!"  
  
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"It has everything to do with everything!"  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Not only you're a pyro, but you're a raving lunatic as well!" Stopping to take a breath, she snapped her eyes over at Ry, who was for some reason laughing uproariously. "What the hell are you laughing at?"  
  
It took Ry a minute to get his mirth back under control again, but even then he still snickered. A few gasping breaths, and he managed to compose himself, if just barely. A grin still tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Zion, you're going to kill me for this."  
  
"Kill you for what?" I asked suspiciously.  
  
Ry didn't answer. Instead, he tossed something small and flaringly bright blue to the girl, who turned it over in her hands with the air of someone appraising a jewel.  
  
It took a couple of moments for my brain to put two and two together. A few gears ground. They rattled and squeaked, turning slowly and in desperate need of oiling. Then everything clicked into place. And the little gears in my mind suddenly crumbled into dust.  
  
"Ry, can I borrow your dagger for a minute?"  
  
  
  
Quick battle, huh? Oh well. Being level one dragoon sucks ass. I tried to make it interesting. And probably failed horribly, but that's for you guys to judge. AND there's your next blue-sea dragoon. Two birds with one stone! Bwaha!  
  
**Dart, Nova, and Garren are all hiding in a small, makeshift bomb shelter constructed from old garbage can lids, hubcaps, slabs of cement and sandbags. All three appear to be very nervous, and speak in hushed tones while they keep a nervous watch on the yard outside. A very confused Zion, who pops in through a gap in the ceiling, soon joins them**  
  
Zion: What's going on?  
  
Nova: **hits him over the head** Shhh! She'll hear us!  
  
Zion: **rubbing head** What? Who?  
  
Garren: Shade. Some idiot went and let her pass her learner's test. She's got a @#$%'n driver's license now!  
  
Zion: I don't see any cars around.  
  
Dart: -.-; She's not driving a car. All she could find was the lawn mower.  
  
Zion: But I thought they sold the lawn tractor?  
  
Nova: They did. She's driving a push mower.  
  
Zion: O.o;  
  
Shade: **Whirrs by seated atop a very battered mower, wearing a dented pylon as a crash helmet and giggling insanely as she chases a random Lloyd around the yard** 


	38. Kaelin

-.- Mood of the day? Bleh.  
  
Magical Mage: Yes, the choker is visible. ^-^ I'm just a dumbass and am continually forgetting to mention it whenever I describe him.  
  
TopVideoGamer: Whoo, let's see how my memory works today. Okay, he got the Thunder Spirit from Haschel, the Darkness after defeating a cultist, the blue-sea from Meru (sorta), the gold from a cultist, the red-eye from another cultist, and I think that's about it.  
  
  
  
Dart's POV:  
  
The last traces of sunlight had finally fled the western sky, leaving it to settle deeper into the night. A shroud of the deepest black velvet, pinned up into the heavens by the moon and stars, only slightly marred by the lurid red stain of the firelight from the burning homes in the nameless village below. Fire ate at the thatched rooftops and dry wooden walls, filling the air with smoke and drifting sparks and ash. What precious little glass had been in a few of the windows shattered and were immediately replaced by gouts of flame, licking at the already blazing sides of the house as it fed off of oxygen hungrily. The familiar scene tickled something in the shadows of my mind, but I suppressed it firmly before the memories could start to drift to the surface. I'd seen too many homes burned in the past, and too often by fault of my own. Shaking my head, I turned away as the front porch of the nearest house collapsed and a cloud of ash billowed out over the square. The past was just that, whether it would catch up with me or not. At the moment I had slightly more pressing matters to deal with anyway.  
  
Although they had backed off a few paces, Zion and our new arrival were still eyeing each other like a pair of strange wolves over a piece of meat. The girl gripped the knotted end of the burlap sack she had been dragging about, hefting it without taking her eyes off of Zion as though considering belting him over the head with whatever remained in the bag. On the other hand, Zion, his bastard sword lying on the damp earth near the well, the blade stained dark with Urobolus blood, was armed only with the bit of damp rag he had been treating his leg with. Hardly threatening for the girl, but if they started fighting again I'd probably never be able to get them to stop.  
  
//Careful// Ark said wryly //She might decide to use that sack on you instead of him//  
  
/I hope not/ I grumbled back, but I was careful to keep out of her range as I stepped between them. Her eyebrows rose and her fingers twitched on the bag, but she remained motionless otherwise. The blue-sea spirit, which she clutched in her other hand, seemed to be forgotten for the moment. Although with the way it was flaring, sending narrow beams of brilliant aqua light streaming between her fingers, I found that rather difficult to believe.  
  
"Would you mind putting that sack down?" I asked mildly, running my thumb over the short stubble covering my chin. "Beating someone into the ground isn't exactly considered good form, even if you did just meet them. And stop smirking Zion. You're acting every bit as childish as the lady is."  
  
Zion gave me an insulted look and muttered something under his breath, but his expression was relieved as he turned away to retrieve his sword. Personally, I didn't blame him. Facing off against an angry beast was one thing- an angry woman was something entirely different.  
  
For her part, the woman spat on the ground at my feet before saying "Call me 'lady' again and I'll kick your ass. My name's Kaelin and I'm a thief, not some prissed-up courtress." She added, just a touch sullenly. She did, however, set the sack back down with a small clink. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"I'm Ry. And over there-" I nodded in Zion's direction as he plucked up his sword "-his name is Zion."  
  
Across the square the burning houses shuddered as a muffled explosion rocked the foundations of the middle building, causing the rapidly disappearing roof to collapse inward with a groan, sending a fountain of sparks spiraling upwards into the dark sky. For some reason the image of exploding kegs of ale suddenly sprung to mind, and I took a few steps backward, stumbling over the tail end of one of the Urobolus corpses in the process. Fire was not something I minded so much as if some genius had decided to keep a stock of alcohol in his now burning cellar.  
  
Evidently Kaelin was having similar thoughts, because she followed my lead and put some more distance between herself and the leaping flames, carefully lifting the coarse sack after her. Her tousled bangs and short black hair had been treated with dyes at some point so that they were tipped bright crimson, and even dressed in her faded vest and torn trousers I had seen few people who looked less like a thief. Deep brown eyes, so dark that they were almost black were accented by narrow, double slashes of blue tattooed across her cheekbones, the odd designs not quite reaching her nose. Plain silver hoops hung from either earlobe; they reflected the light from the spirit as she looked down at it at last, a small frown furrowing her brows as she held the spirit up for examination. The blinding glare had dimmed at last, settling into a steady pulsating glow.  
  
"What is-?" She started but trailed off, turning the stone over in her fingers, the blue light from the spirit dancing across her face. Curious, she tapped with her fingernails, then held it up to her eye and squinted into it, chewing on her lip. Her frown deepened as she ran her fingers over it again, sniffed it, and then for some strange reason stuck out her little pink tongue and licked it quickly. Her nose wrinkled, and she snorted as she waved the spirit about in front of my face. "What is this supposed to be? It's not a gem!"  
  
"Do you honestly think that anyone would just wander around handing out gemstones?" I asked dryly. "Trust me, this is much more useful."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Kaelin demanded, but at that moment Zion appeared at my shoulder, sword settled safely in its sheath once more and a slightly anxious expression on his face.  
  
"Ry? I think we're going to have to get out of here if we want to avoid any more trouble." Zion rubbed his shoulder, carefully looking anywhere but directly at Kaelin. Folding her arms, she stared back at him challengingly.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Wordlessly he pointed up at the sky. The plumes of smoke drifting up from the fire were sooty red with sparks and ash, a silent beacon announcing our position to anyone within thirty miles. Somewhere in the back of my head Ragnarok muttered something in dragon tongue that I don't think I was meant to understand.  
  
I felt like doing much the same, but I managed to keep my tongue in check. Instead, I moderated my tone as best I could. Which, given the circumstances, wasn't a whole lot. "We don't have much time, then. The guardsmen will be swarming this place within a couple of hours." But with my luck, it would probably be sooner.  
  
"Guardsmen?" Kaelin took a step back from us, then flinched as another rumble emitted from the flaming buildings. "How the hell did you get guardsmen after you? Wait," she said, eyes snapping down to the spirit in her hand before looking up again, "You stole this thing from them, didn't you!" She said accusingly.  
  
//This coming from a thief?//  
  
/They have strange moralities, sometimes/ I replied. Aloud, "Hardly. They'd love to get their hands on it, though."  
  
Kaelin didn't appear to be listening any longer. She rubbed the stone with her fingertips, lips moving silently while she worked out her thoughts to herself. Her brows creased again, but she glanced at me out of the corner of her eyes. When she finally spoke again, her voice was carefully neutral. Rolling the spirit over in her hands again, she gave it a casual glance. "You wouldn't have happened to have been in Tiberoa lately, by any chance."  
  
"No. Why do you ask?"  
  
"You might not have heard about it then, I guess. The High Priest of Tiberoa made an announcement, probably close to a week ago now," She said casually, "Claims that the dragoons of legend are arising again, to aid the Moon Child against the Black Monster and the creation of her utopia. He was even kind enough to introduce one of them during his address. I wasn't there personally to see, but supposedly this dragoon guy went down on one knee and swore an oath of fealty to the Moon Child right then and there." A strand of hair fell across her eyes, and she brushed it away absently. "Now correct me if I'm wrong, but legend states that there were seven different dragoons and their spirits, right? The temples claim that they hold the remainder of them, but unless I'm very much mistaken, I'm holding one right now, aren't I?"  
  
There was a moment of stunned silence, and Zion and I exchanged glances. Zion's hand went to his chest, touching the lump under his shirt that was his spirit. Finally, he stated the obvious.  
  
"She's quick," he admitted grudgingly.  
  
My mind, however, was on different matters. /The temple found one of the bearers?/  
  
//For the moment, at least. You know better than anyone else does how fickle some of the spirits can be about their users. That isn't to say that they won't abandon them the moment they find someone who they think suits their purpose better// Ark didn't seem unduly concerned by the idea.  
  
This did little to quell the wave of anxiety that had risen in the pit of my stomach, but I forced myself to relax, outwardly at least. "I'm impressed. There aren't very many people around nowadays who actually pay attention to the old stories anymore."  
  
Kaelin smiled thinly. "Just because I'm a thief doesn't mean I'm not educated. I've been able to read since I was ten, and one of the first things I ever stole was a book from the library in Deningrad; big fat one about the dragoons by some geezer named Orion Randabralt. It's a little confusing sometimes, but it was my favorite. Now," she said, face hardening once again, "What were you saying about guardsmen?"  
  
This time it was Zion's turn to do the explaining. When he realized that I wasn't about to say anything, he cleared his throat and tugged at the sword belt slung sideways across his chest, though it was already more than tight enough. "Well, uh, in truth they've been looking for us for about a week now. I sort of accidentally set fire to part of Kazas, so they're sort of anxious to get their hands on me." He gave me an odd look. "And him too, for some reason, but I still can't guess why."  
  
I shrugged easily. "Someone very high up in the cult knows that I have the rest of the dragoon spirits. Whatever the temples may say, they only have two of the seven." I grinned. "Hell, I'd probably have most of the world after me if they knew what I was carrying around with me. Fortunately, most ordinary people can't tell a dragoon spirit from an ordinary glass ball." Somewhere in the back of my mind a memory stirred. "Would you believe that I actually bought one off of a merchant in Lohan once?"  
  
Zion gave me an odd look, then returned to his explanation. "Anyway, those burning buildings are going to draw them like moths to a flame, and I really don't feel like having to deal with an entire patrol tonight, dragoon or no. Do you have a horse?"  
  
"No." She raked her fingers through her bangs. "I'm assuming, though, that you want me to come with you for whatever reason?"  
  
"Well, the blue sea spirit did recognize you. That does sort of bind you to us, in a manner of speaking." I replied. "Look, if you don't, then you probably won't have that spirit for very much longer, whether it recognized you or not. The temple wants the spirits, and the patrol has two high ranking dread knights with them." I left it hanging.  
  
Kaelin let her breath out explosively. "Fine, I'll come." She said, tucking her spirit into the inside of her vest. Picking up her sack and slinging it back over her shoulder with a loud rattle, she started towards a gap in the houses opposite the fire. "But only because I feel like it's my best option, okay?"  
  
"Gotchya." Zion grinned quickly before starting to fall into step behind her, but hesitated and glanced back over his shoulder at me. "Uh, what are we going to do about the horse?"  
  
"I'll take care of it." I gestured in the direction of the hills with my good hand. "You two keep going. I'll catch up later."  
  
Zion made a face and said, "You just want to ride again."  
  
"Of course. Now get moving. If memory serves, there's a second road a couple of miles to the north that swings off towards Bale. We can head there next. Oh, and Zion?" I added as the man started to turn away, "Try not to aggravate Kaelin? That was sheer luck finding her, and I don't want her running off because you pissed her off."  
  
"I'll try," he promised dryly. I watched him until he and Kaelin had disappeared through a gap between the houses before hurrying off in the other direction, back out into the long cornfields covering the hillside to the south.  
  
In the hour or so in which we had left him, the gelding had only wandered a short distance from the spot where I had last seen him. Catching him by the loose rein Zion had knotted around his neck, I led him back to the cornrow where we had left our gear. Only using one hand made replacing the tack difficult, but after much fumbling I managed it. The gelding, blessedly calm after pounding along the roads all day, watched me out of one rolled back eye while he snuffled through the weeds covering the ground. Tossing the packs haphazardly over the cantle of the saddle when I had finished, I leaned back against the animal's side for a moment to try to catch my breath. A light breeze stirred the night, sending long cascading waves through the prairie grasses, silver-grey in the moonlight. Aside from that, the night was still.  
  
/Two down/ I murmured. /Do you think we should head for Tiberoa next? The less time their dragoon has the spirit, the better/  
  
//They'll be waiting for you. Besides, Kaelin and Zion are both going to need time to prepare themselves, no matter how promising the boy may seem// Ragnarok mulled things over in his mind and I closed my eyes as the gelding heaved out a sigh at my back and continued grazing. //Bale's not a major seaport or anything// He said at last, //but it does have a docking area on that river that runs out into Illisa Bay. We can hire a ship there and take it as far as Fueno. We'll see what happens next when we arrive//  
  
/Sounds good. But what about the other spirits? I think we can be fairly sure by now that Kazas wasn't just a fluke/  
  
//I wouldn't worry about that too much. Dragoons are drawn to one another by fate. As long as we keep moving, sooner or later we'll come across the rest//  
  
/I guess so/ The wind gusted again, plastering my coat against my legs. Frowning, I opened my eyes. A cloudbank was creeping up on the eastern horizon, moving quickly on the building winds. I glanced back over my shoulder at the leaping flames in the burning village below. Hopefully rain would come with the wind; if not, then pretty soon the fire would spread to the dry plains. Gathering up the reins, I tossed them onto the pommel and set my foot in the stirrup and swung awkwardly up into the saddle. I settled into the seat and then picked up the reins, tugging the gelding's head out of the grass. As I turned him around, however, a flicker of movement out on the heaving grasslands caught my attention.  
  
//Where are you going?// Ark asked as I heeled the horse into a rough jog down the hillside.  
  
I caught sight of the movement again, in a valley about a half-mile to the east. This time there was no mistaking the telltale glint of moonlight on steel. /We've got company/ I replied. Had the dread knights come this far already? Loosening my blade in its sheath, I clipped the animal's side again with my heels, asking for a bit more speed. Really, there was only one way to find out.  
  
I had ridden for perhaps ten minutes when the first sounds of muted conversation reached my ears. Turning toward the voices, I slowed my tired mount to a walk. Sounds carry far in the night air, and presently I was able to catch bits and pieces of the talk.  
  
"-To come all the way out here. It's probably just some idiot caught his barn afire." Someone was saying, his voice young and boyish.  
  
"We're not supposed to ask questions, Roger. The captain barks and we jump. That's just how things go." A gravelly voice answered. "Besides, I'm just as glad to be away from those two. I get all jumpy with the Commander around."  
  
A third voice barked a laugh as the ground sloped away from beneath me, revealing three mounted men sitting on their horses in the gully below. "If it's the Commander yeh be worried about, then you be a fool, Bren. Soltrane makes me skin crawl, and that's when he's not even looking in me direction. But I do agree with yeh; if they wants to take the rest of the men off to Seles, then I be that much happier to be rid of them." A curious accent I didn't recognize thickened his speech, making him difficult to understand.  
  
"Amen to that," Roger said fervently, and the other two muttered in agreement.  
  
/What do you think?/ I asked, allowing myself to slump forward in the saddle as my mount began to pick his way down the slope.  
  
//They'll only pick up our trail if we leave them.// Ark's words were calm, but his mind felt like a ball of eager energy against mine. //And besides, we could use the horses//  
  
/Sadist. You just don't want to share them with the others/ Pushing my blade further out of its sheath, I shifted my jacket so that the worn dark cloth covered the wire-bound hilt.  
  
In the bottom of the gully, one of the armored mounts lifted his head and whickered as I approached. My gelding snorted in return, and the soldiers snapped up, tense and alert. The man I guessed was Roger, a husky young man mounted on a thick-bodied animal that looked as though he might have some draft in him, hefted his spear.  
  
"Who goes there?" He called automatically.  
  
As my horse lurched down the last few meters of the slope, the third member of the party brushed past him, readying his spear in his left hand while he guided his horse closer with his right. "I say man, hold off, will yeh, Roger? He do be hurt!" He halted beside me, trying to peer at my face through the darkness. "Who did do this to yeh?"  
  
I tried to rasp out a reply, but the sound got caught in my throat, causing me to go into an extended fit of coughing instead. Damn it, where was Garren when you really needed him? He was the actor, not me. Doubling over, I dropped the reins and took a firm grip on the sword hilt.  
  
Whatever I had intended, the coughing seemed to have an effect on the man. Concern overcoming his unease, he reached out and put a steadying hand on my shoulder. "Hold on there. We'll get yeh fixed up soon enough."  
  
The words sounded strange coming out of the mouth of a guardsman. Doubtless had he known who I was he would have tried to stick his spear between my ribs, but the words had an effect on me all the same. As I swept the sword from the sheath I twisted my arm slightly, so that the flat of the blade smashed square into his face with the crunch of bone and cartilage. He stayed upright in the saddle for a moment, blood streaming over his lips from his crushed nose. Then his eyes slid up under his eyelids and he toppled from his mount with a sigh, unconscious. A strange form of thanks, but he at least would live to see another day. In the back of my head, Ark snarled with disgust.  
  
Driving my heels into my gelding's side, I raised my sword as the other two men rushed to meet me. Knocking aside the first spear, I half- rose out of my stirrups and lashed out with my blade as we swept past one another. It bit into his shoulder guard with a metallic ping, sending a small shock up my arm as I jerked it loose again. My gelding continued on, charging past and careening halfway up the slope before I could get a hold of the reins and pull him up short. Whatever tiredness he'd shown earlier, he seemed to have forgotten. Spinning him around, I raised my sword again as they approached cautiously; long spears tucked into their arms like lances. Vaguely, I found myself hoping that Zion and Kaelin didn't mind waiting around for a bit. /This might take a bit longer than I thought/  
  
Kaelin's POV:  
  
There are certain questions one must ask one's self in life. Sure, there are the standard phrases like: "What is my purpose?" and "Is there such a thing as fate?" But no one ever mentions the important ones, like "What am I going to do today if I plan on actually surviving until tomorrow?" And assuming that I do, "is there anything I have to do today that I can put off until then?" And "if I do put it off until then, when exactly will the consequences come back around to bite me in the ass?"  
  
And of course, the one that I'm fairly certain the universe revolves around: "What the hell is going on?"  
  
This last one described my state of mind to a tee at that moment. Trudging along the hard packed dusty road next to Zion, my mind seemed to swim as I struggled to sort out exactly what had just happened. The dragoon spirit- my mind still reeled at the thought- in my breast pocket was a hard lump of warmth, pulsing against my skin in time with my heart. The glow was clearly visible through the threadbare cloth, just bright enough to get in my eyes and prevent me from seeing any farther than three feet past my own nose. Trying to cover it with my hands, I shot an irritable glance in Zion's direction.  
  
"Does this thing ever turn off?"  
  
He shrugged, and I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Sooner or later."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Exactly what I said." And then before I could find anything wrong with the bland statement, he asked "So what were you doing in that house anyway?"  
  
The sack I was carrying over my shoulder started to slip, and I paused to hoist it up a little higher. "I thought I already told you?"  
  
"Did you? Sorry, all that screeching you did back there temporarily deafened me, I think." He scratched his neck. "Would you mind running it by me again?"  
  
I briefly considered hauling off and belting him over the head with my sack, but then thought the better of it. "Not if you keep trying to piss me off." When he opened his mouth to protest, I waved a hand at him. "Shut up. I'm a thief, okay? What do you think I was doing, dumbass?" Then I rubbed my chin and sighed. "Okay, the truth? I was supposed to meet with some guy yesterday in Seles, but when I left Bale at the beginning of the week, I, uh, kinda got lost."  
  
In the darkness I couldn't see his face very well, but his voice carried volumes. "Got lost?"  
  
"Do you want me to tell you or not?" I snapped back, stumbling as my toe stubbed against a stone partially uncovered in the middle of the road. "I suck at directions, okay? Those caves messed me up something nasty. I lost my saber in there, and some bastard slime thing made off with the rest of my supplies and- Stop laughing, damn it!" I waved my sack at him threateningly.  
  
Still snickering, Zion backed off. "So how did you manage to end up in that building?" He asked, once he had composed himself.  
  
"I was just getting to that," I growled. "I only found a way out of those caves this morning. That village was the first place I came across, so I was a little more concerned with what people had left behind than why the place was abandoned." I made a face at him. "I'd just found a goodly store of silverware when you came knocking and ruined everything."  
  
He said nothing and I fell into a heated silence, stalking along beside him with the silverware and other trinkets I'd salvaged clinking against one another in the folds of rough burlap.  
  
A wind stirred the long grasses, lifting the dust from the hard road top and sending it whirling and dancing out over the prairie. The persistent buzz of the crickets had lessened some, and bats flitted about overhead, dark shades against the starlit sky. I shivered, wishing that I had one of my hoods along with me. Not that I was cold or anything; its just that being out in the open country unsettles me. I'd spent most of my life inside the walls of Deningrad before I'd relocated south to Bale, hoping to escape the harsh temperatures, so the wilderness is lost on me. Sure, the night sky and the landscape were beautiful, but I'd trade it any day for a mug of mulled wine and a decent bed. Tugging my vest closed, I looked up just in time to avoid bumping into Zion, who had stopped and was staring back at the sooty red stain against the sky that marked the village's location.  
  
He might have been frowning, for the expression was mirrored in his voice. "Where is he? Soa knows it doesn't take that long to catch a horse." Already standing a good hand's span over six feet, he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, trying to locate the hill that masked the tiny village.  
  
"You mean whassisface? Ry, was it?" I squinted off into the darkness, trying to distinguish movement from moonlit shadows. "Wasn't his arm in a sling? That would make things difficult for him, wouldn't it?"  
  
"It doesn't seem to slow him down very much," he replied doubtfully, "And the horse is too tired to have wandered very far." He reached up over his shoulder and tugged the hilt of his massive bastard sword, as though to reassure himself that it was still there. "We should go back and help him."  
  
"You think he hit trouble, or something? Look, he'll catch up when he's done with whatever he's doing, right? Let's just keep going for now." I pulled on his arm until he turned around. "And keep that big knife handy, alright? All I've got is a bag of cutlery, and that's not going to be much good against anything."  
  
Zion followed grudgingly, although he kept shooting glances over his shoulder at the road behind him. If I hadn't have been there, he probably would have turned around and headed back with his blade bared and ready for trouble. Inwardly I sighed. Why is it that whenever you give a man a weapon, he starts to keep his brain in the sheath right next to the sword? It never fails.  
  
We followed the strip of moonlit road for another quarter if an hour before reaching a crossroads of sorts. The grass was short here, trampled down by scores of hooves, and the day-old remains of a campfire drifted ash across the site. An old signpost, bleached and cracked from years of exposure, stood at the center of it all; the spidery script announcing that the road to the north led to Bale whereas the western led overland to Hoax. Dropping my bag and flopping down on the grass to rest, I looked at Zion enquiringly. "Well? See him yet?"  
  
"Maybe. There's something moving off of the road to the south aways, but I can't make it out just yet." Following suit, Zion shrugged out of his sword belt and sat on the ground with a sigh of relief. "Damn, I'm tired."  
  
"I wonder why," I said dryly. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before you go around picking fights with thirty foot long serpents."  
  
His answering chuckle was hollow in the darkness. "It's not just that. I've been through hell this week." He shifted. "Its hard to believe that two weeks ago my biggest worry was whether or not I'd make it into the Hero Competition. Now I've got dread knights after me and a dragoon spirit to boot! Bit of advice for you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Ry's going to take your entire world, uproot you from whatever you thought was safe, and then turn whatever's left upside down. Your life is probably about to take a turn for the worse right about now."  
  
"Really?" I lay back on the grass, starring up at the thin clouds drifting across the Moon's surface. "When I was little, I always dreamed of being the hero in a fairy tale. You know, feared, loved, and respected and all that bull."  
  
"Try 'scared', 'confused', and 'hunted', and you might be a little closer." He said dryly. "If we're even allowed to be called heroes, that is. I don't even know what we're supposed to be doing, aside from the fact that the temples are caught up in it somehow."  
  
"That comforting. And he won't tell you anything?"  
  
"I get the feeling that he doesn't want to. I mean, he'll let something slip every now and again, but I think he wants us to find out the reasons for ourselves. He's strange like that."  
  
I sat up and stared at him. "You mean you've been following him around and you don't even know why?" I asked incredulously.  
  
Zion shrugged helplessly. "I don't really have much choice. He knows what's going on, and he knows how to keep out of the temple's sights. Besides, he still has most of the spirits. That's enough reason for me to follow him alone. Well, for now, at least. And personally, I'd rather have him as an ally than an enemy." He fell silent, staring off into the darkness.  
  
I lay back down on the grass, feeling more confused than when we had arrived in the first place. Zion was willing to follow the other man, but he obviously didn't want to put all of his trust in him. Strange. Ry hadn't seemed so bad earlier. But then again, that was an opinion formulated from a few minutes of conversation. Using my arms as a pillow, I closed my eyes. Oh well. Time would yield some answers, hopefully.  
  
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I was aware of was the strong smell of horse and doe-soft lips nuzzling my hair. Opening my eyes groggily, I waved away the curious animal and sat up slowly. The horse snorted softly, disappointed, and moved off into the deeper grasses where it could graze. It was still tacked, and the silver plates in set into the tooled leather saddle glinted in the moonlight. Emblazoned on them in gold was a circle split by a spear- the sign of the temple guardsmen. Confused, I looked around. Two more horses grazed nearby, one in tack similar to the first, while the second bore a plain scuffed leather saddle.  
  
"Hey, watch it! That's my last bottle."  
  
"Shut up. If I don't use it, then it'll just break open and start bleeding again. Now hold still."  
  
Stretching, I turned around. Someone had re-lit the old campfire, and the glowing embers gave off a feeble light in the darkness. Ry was back; he sat next to the coals with his jacket across his knees and his shirt unbuttoned, looking disgruntled. Zion crouched next to him, cautiously dabbing at a wound in his side with a sodden cloth. "He got you pretty good. What the hell were you thinking, taking on two of them like that?"  
  
Ry gave a one sided shrug. "We needed the horses. Anyway, they only would have caused us problems later on."  
  
Hoisting my bag, I got to my feet and moved over into the firelight. "What did you do?" I asked, crouching and starting to rummage through the contents of the sack.  
  
Zion paused to pour the last of the potion over the wound. It was difficult to tell how serious it had been with the mixture knitting the flesh back together, but judging from the dark blood that still stained his side and clothing, it had been a deep one. "He stumbled on some guardsmen while he was bringing back the horse. He decided that we needed their horses too."  
  
"We do." Ry said matter-of-factly. "Too bad one of them got away." Gingerly touching the wound, which had by now faded to a faint scar, he nodded approvingly and set about buttoning up his shirt again. "If you haven't noticed, there's a storm coming in. I'd like to be into the caves before it hits."  
  
Rocking back onto my heels, I pulled a long sheathed knife that I'd pilfered earlier out from the sack. It wasn't a saber, but it would be better than nothing against the creatures that dwelt in the caves. Testing the blade against my thumb, I slid it back into the sheath and stuffed it into my belt. I wasn't much with a knife, but I knew enough to use it without injuring myself.  
  
Zion kicked dirt over the fire, muffling the flames while I fixed my gear to the saddle on the back of one animal that looked dead on his feet. Stroking the gelding's neck, I looked over at Ry who was checking out the contents of a saddlebag hanging from one of the temple animals. "Why do we have to go to Bale?"  
  
"We're going to hire a boat to take us to Fueno. The temple never managed to get any more than a handful of followers there, and in any case it's disputed territory between Mille Seseau and Tiberoa so we'll be more or less out of reach as long as we keep a low profile. That, and many traders come through there from Fletz. I want to learn more about the temple's pet dragoon."  
  
I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
He gave me a rather direct look. "I would have thought that was obvious. If this dragoon of theirs is really as loyal to them as they say, then you and Zion are going to have to fight him to take back the spirit. Letting the cult keep two spirits was a big enough mistake on my part. I am not going to allow them to have another dragoon."  
  
  
  
Neheh. And so there were two.  
  
There's going to be a side story coming up within the next couple chapters. Yes, I know I said they were only going to be in part one, but I think I can still find use for them.  
  
I should have the next chapter or two up before Christmas. Please don't quote me on that. 


	39. Connections

**Bruised and groaning people cover the library floor, most sporting wheel tracks on their backs or foreheads. Shade is hiding behind a book-laden library cart, trying to explain the ordeal**  
  
Shade: It's the cart's fault, I tell you! The cart!  
  
-.- Okay, so that hasn't happened. YET. I work at a library, if you can't guess from the opening blurb, and for eight hours a week I stalk through looming bookshelves dragging about this infernal carrying cart. -.- It seems to have a mind of it's own, and I'm slowly becoming convinced that it is somehow indirectly related to 'The Luggage' from the Discworld book series. It does stupid things, knocks things over, and sets off the elevator alarm while I'm trying to move it around. I wouldn't be very surprised if it ate my foot either. Try as I might, I guess that brute strength just can't win against an erratic wheeled quadruped. (Don't get me wrong: I love the job. It's wonderful. It's just the library carts I don't like. Grr.)  
  
  
  
Ragnarok's POV:  
  
Thunder rumbled sullenly overhead, the heavy sound echoing endlessly through the caverns and galleries deeper in the caves. Moisture dripped from hanging stalactites and collected on the worn limestone walls, dampening the blue-grey lichens that grew in unhealthy, leprous patches near the cavern mouth. Outside the rain fell in a steady downpour, and the slowly dissipating mist hanging over the marshes might have been better described as an inland fog. The river flowing from the marshes into the cave had been swollen by the rain; after a dry summer it was now spilling over its banks, flooding the narrow stone causeway some thoughtful person had built some centuries ago to aid travelers passing through.  
  
Dart sat on a smooth boulder at the river's edge, watching the falling rain pensively while he fiddled with the plaster cast under his sling. "This weather probably won't break anytime soon, will it?" He said glumly, his voice all but lost in the sound of the rushing water.  
  
//Do I look like a weather god?//  
  
"Sorry." He sighed, then frowned, digging at the skin under his cast with his fingers.  
  
//Stop that//  
  
/It's itchy!/  
  
//It's healing. Leave it alone//  
  
Grumbling, Dart tucked his arm back into his jacket and got to his feet. Walking gingerly along the slippery stone bank, he made his way towards the fire burning further back along the passage.  
  
As we approached, Zion looked up from his place next to the fire. He had one of the temple issue saddles set across one knee and was slowly working off the silver crests with the knife Dart had lent him. Kaelin sat with her legs crossed against the cave wall, chewing her lip as she turned one of the flat, graven disks over in her hand. It reflected in the firelight, and spots of light danced over the dripping roof of the cavern as she handed back to Zion, shaking her head. "Even if we melt them down, you won't get much from them. That's really a very inferior metal. There's almost no pure silver in there and the 'gold' is just treated brass."  
  
Zion looked glum, but he bent back over the saddle and set back to work. "Great. So what are we going to do with them? Just leave them here?"  
  
Kaelin leaned forward and poked a burning log with a long stick of driftwood. "I'll hold onto them. We might not be able to use them, but I know someone who might buy them off of us. There's always people who can put things like that to dishonest use."  
  
Dart chuckled, bending over one of the saddlebags. After a day of wandering about in the caves much of the supplies were gone, but there was still a few small bags of dried grains and leathery vegetables left near the bottom. Filling one of Kaelin's dented tin bowls with water from the river, he poured some ground meal into it before setting it into some glowing coals raked away from the fire. Partially covering it with one of the crests, he settled down across the fire from Zion to wait for it to cook.  
  
As the other two started to argue about the morality of the respective situation, Dart stared at the fire, his eyes not really focusing. /So it should take the rest of the day to reach Bale, assuming that the weather remains like this/  
  
//About that// I agreed. //We're going to have to leave them for a while once we reach Bale, I think. We need to find out whether or not Ayrel has been through their temple lately//  
  
/They should be okay as long as they keep a low profile. Ah, that reminds me. What are we going to do about Zion?/  
  
//What do you mean?//  
  
/By now his description's been circulated throughout the Serdian Cults. He's sort of easy to recognize. People will be watching for him, especially if we really were sighted in Seles/  
  
//Figure something out// I told him. //Worse come to worse, we'll just leave him in the hills while you two find someone willing to take us to Fueno//  
  
/If that's how you want to do it/  
  
"Hey, Ry?" Dart looked over at Zion, who had finished with the saddles and was watching him with a concerned look on his face. "You alright? You sorta zoned out for a minute just then."  
  
"Did I?" Dart affected a yawn, covering his mouth with a hand. "S'cuse me. Sorry. I guess I'm still waking up, that's all."  
  
Zion shrugged and lifted the saddle from his knee, examining the scarred leather critically. "I think we'll still want to throw a cloth or something over these. I got rid of the crests and trimmed off some of the leg flap, but they won't stand up to any scrutiny."  
  
"I don't think that anyone will notice." Kaelin fiddled with a tear in her shirt, then winced as the rip opened up farther. "The temple sells off its surplus sometimes, so it wouldn't be all that suspicious a sight. And if the city guard notice, we can just bribe them and be on our way," she added dryly.  
  
"You can take care of that," Dart grimaced. "The last few weeks have just about emptied my pockets, I'm afraid."  
  
"So we're going to need a boat, right?" Zion passed the knife he'd been toying with back to Dart. "How are we going to hire one if we don't have any money?"  
  
Kaelin gave him a withering look. "If we sell those bloody crests, then we won't have to worry about it."  
  
Zion's face darkened, but Dart cut in before they could start arguing again. "She's right, Zion. And we need the money." Leaning forward he pulled his bowl out of the coals and flicked off the cover. "Kaelin, you wouldn't be able to do anything about Zion's appearance, would you? Bale's a large city, but there's always the chance that someone might recognize him."  
  
"What, a disguise?" The woman chewed on a lock of hair thoughtfully then spat it out again. "I could make him look like a wingly given the right stuff, but I can't do much with him with what we have just now. But I can get the both of you into the city without anyone noticing. I should be able to fix him up then." She stopped, pursing her lips slightly as she looked critically at Dart. "And you too, I think. If the Temples want you dead as much as they say, why hasn't anyone caught up with you yet?"  
  
Dart shrugged, and I chuckled dryly. //They're dead, that's why. At any rate, I'm sure Ayrel would be displeased if anyone but her were to have the last say in the matter//  
  
/She'll be holding her breath, then. We'll be around for a while yet/  
  
//I'm sure she hates the thought//  
  
/She's spoiled, Ark. Sooner or later she'll have to accept that not everything will happen the way she wants/  
  
I laughed, but the dead weight of Dart's left arm chased any trace of mirth from the gesture. Joke though we might, both of us knew all too well that only a fool would take the girl lightly, and a dead one at that.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
After several hours of steady downpour the thick clouds began to disperse, leaving the sun to shine timidly out over the sodden landscape. Brooks and streams that had dried up in the drought now spilled over their banks as they rushed along, green-yellow leaves bobbing wildly up and down in the current like children's boats. Riding forth from the watermedows, we traveled north along the muddy road at a steady jog that slowly ate away at the passing miles. The marshes gave way to gently rolling woodland, chilly and dripping in the rain's wake. Then these too fell away, and we cantered along the sloppy roads between acres of fields filled with men and woman alike hard at work bringing in the early harvest before the weather grew chill.  
  
The sun had sunk back behind the heavy clouds when the walls of Bale came into sight; the dusky grey stone marred by dark streaks gained from a millennia of exposure. Over time the population had grown too large to fit within the old city boundaries, and a second settlement had sprung up outside the walls of the inner city. It spread out in every direction; a sea of slate and thatched roofs split at intervals by long, straight avenues that led to the gates of the inner city.  
  
We had hardly had time to drink in the sight before Kaelin ushered us off of the road and out of sight behind the collapsing remains of an old farm building. After a quick muttered conversation she was off again, loping down the hill toward the city.  
  
I watched her retreating form for a moment, then grunted as Dart turned away to tether his horse. //I hope she knows what she's doing. She said that she'd send someone to fetch us?//  
  
/Apparently so/ Dart scratched at his chin, then frowned. After several days without a razor a course stubble had sprung up and the constant itching annoyed him to no end. /I don't like the word 'fetch'. It makes me feel like I'm livestock/  
  
//It's just a word, Dart. You needn't get worked up over something like that. By the way, do you want to take a quick rest? You didn't get much sleep last night//  
  
/Why are you being so accommodating all of a sudden?/ Dart asked suspiciously. /Are you ill or something?/  
  
I ignored the last comment. //Fine. I'd like to talk to Zion for a while//  
  
/You -are- ill/ Dart commented, but he did ease off to one side.  
  
Zion had dismounted before Kaelin had left; now he was sitting on a crumbling section of the ruined wall, laboriously whetting the nicks and scratches from the aged steel. He glanced up momentarily as I approached, then turned his eyes back to the blade. "How long do you think she'll be?"  
  
"As long as she needs to be, I imagine. You missed a spot."  
  
"What? Oh." He touched the long scar in the blade, then shook his head. "That one's been there for years now. If I tried to polish that out the blade would probably snap in two."  
  
"Years?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's a long time to use one sword."  
  
"My brother gave it to me as a gift before he was sent away," He said defensively. "Besides," he added, "swords like this are difficult to find nowadays." Shifting his grip, he picked up his whetstone again.  
  
"Your brother?"  
  
Zion gave the blade a few vicious swipes with his stone, speaking in a tight voice. "He was a guardsmen when the temples decided embark on a crusade into the old wingly provinces to the east."  
  
"Ah." I kept my voice carefully neutral. "Would I be far off in saying that this is where your problems with the cult come from?"  
  
He gave me an odd look. "I guess you could say that. I kinda lost it after I found out about it." He paused to scratch his cheek reflectively. "Although now that I think about it, attacking the head priest might have been a little extreme," he admitted.  
  
"Just a bit." I laughed quietly to myself. "If you plan on doing that again, next time do it right. High authority figures don't generally make the best targets anyhow."  
  
Zion said nothing, bent over his work. Underneath the curtain of shaggy hair falling across his face however, the three white and pinched scars that ran from hairline to jaw line were easy to see. A visible reminder to the truth of that statement, I guess.  
  
I chuckled again, then settled myself down on another section of the wall. "So those are your views on the cult, huh?" Tugging my knife free from me boot, I examined the edge. "I can understand those. But what about the one at the root of it all? The Moon Child, I mean."  
  
Zion shrugged. "The Moon Child? I guess I never really thought about it. Besides, it's the temples that are corrupt, isn't it?" Abruptly he pocked his stone and started to return his sword to his sheath, but stopped with a frown. "But that's not true, is it?"  
  
I turned to look at him; eyebrows climbing so high they were lost under my bandanna. "What?"  
  
"I mean, I have a lot against the temples and all, but for the most part it's personal reasons." I must have started to glare, because suddenly Zion flushed and looked away. "I mean really, what have they done that's wrong?"  
  
For a moment I stared him, resisting a powerful urge to box his ears. Why exactly is it that whenever I begin to think that there may be more then cobwebs between the boy's ears he has to go and prove me wrong? In many ways, he reminded me of Garren. But Garren at least had known the truth of the matter.  
  
Zion had turned away, suddenly very interested in a line of ants scurrying through the dust near his feet. I snorted, not bothering to keep the disgust from the gesture. "Think about it, Zion. Why do you think they sent the crusades into the Forgotten Lands? If they had succeeded, those lands would be being settled in the name of the cult right now. Their own country. They have come as close as they can to ruling in Tiberoa, and their presence, both politically and physically is very strong in the other nations of Endiness. They need power, and the High Priests crave it. Tell me, would you like to see them in power? Because they're close to it now. So very close. And now that a child has actually survived to prove her own power, they gain that many more followers with each passing day. Their strength is growing, kid. And it's the last thing this world needs."  
  
Zion looked up, his eyes uncomprehending. I sighed, then changed my approach. "Think of it this way." Turning my hand sideways, I balanced my knife across the edge of my palm. "Say that the hilt is the Kingdoms, and that the blade is the cult. Right now their power is balanced, okay?" I waited for Zion's nod, then continued. "As long as there is a balance of power, there's no problems. People can plot and plan all they want, but if it came to open confrontation, the outcome would be in doubt for either side. The scales are even. But if the cult were to gain too much power and support-" I tilted my hand. The knife slid off my hand and fell, burying itself point first and quivering in the damp earth. The ant column scattered briefly then formed up again, marching onward as though nothing had happened.  
  
After a long pause I looked up at Zion gravely and when I spoke at last my voice was deadly soft. "Do you understand now? If the cult comes to power, the world will be shaped to the will of the cult and the Moon Child. And in spite of all that they say and preach, it will not be the utopia we are led to believe it to be." Plucking up my blade, I slipped it back into the calve of my boot and got back to my feet. "Alright? I trust that you'll pass that on to Kaelin; I daresay that the two of you have had your own doubts on the matter anyhow. Zion?"  
  
Shuddering as though coming out of a daze, Zion nodded. "Uh, yeah. Ah, I'll tell her, I mean." Then he lapsed into silence, staring mutely at the ants once more.  
  
I watched him for a moment, then shook my head. He'd grow numb to shock sooner or later. Shifting my swordbelt around I headed back to the far corner of the house's foundation where I could watch the road more comfortably.  
  
Zion's POV:  
  
Whatever doubts I may have had, Kaelin was true to her word. Within an hour a merchant's wagon drew up from one of the city gates, driven by a short, greasy-looking man who claimed to have been sent by someone who called himself Lyke Valince. The first name was unfamiliar, but the surname was the same as Kaelin's. And so it was that I now found myself crammed into a dark smuggler's compartment built into the bottom of the wagon bed next to Ry, jostled about uncomfortably as the fat driver did what must have been his upmost to hit every pothole in the pitted road.  
  
Gritting my teeth, I fought down an oath as the wagon lurched over a heave in the road. The sounds of city life were all around us; yet stored away as we were I could see none of it. The air was hot and stuffy, and, as I thought sourly to my self, the only upside I could really see to the situation was that I wasn't claustrophobic. Yet. Desperate for someway to keep occupied, I let my mind wander back to my conversation with Ry earlier.  
  
It did make sense when you sat down and thought about it. It certainly did give me the reasons I'd wanted, and even explained the crusades.  
  
So why was there something still that bothered me?  
  
Riding in the cramped compartment, it took some time before I could put my finger on it. The reasoning was sound, so it couldn't have been that. So that only left Ry himself.  
  
In the week and a half that I'd been travelling, I'd noticed some oddities about my companion's character. Usually he was nice enough, if a bit argumentative. But just then, when he'd been talking, he'd seemed an entirely different person. Not so much through what he was saying, but how he'd said it, how he'd moved; even the way he'd glared at me. Remembering that I suppressed a shudder. His eyes were the worst part. I've heard the eyes called a window to the soul; if that was the case I fervently hoped that he kept it tightly locked up inside of him where it belonged. Blue as they were, they'd seemed to burn with suppressed anger and malevolence that made it nigh impossible to look him in the eye.  
  
This wasn't the first time that I'd noticed it, either. There had been brief moments all week where his attitude would shift, or he'd recover inexplicably in a fight when by all rights he should have been out cold on the ground. There was something going on with him, but either he didn't notice, or he simply didn't plan on telling us what it was.  
  
At long last, with much creaking of the axles, the wagon stopped. We must have pulled into a barn or something, because the sound of the streets had quieted to a persistent buzz. Boots thumped on the wagon boards overhead, and a moment later the hatch swung open, leaving me to blink in the dusty grey light. Sitting up, I knuckled the small of my back while Ry climbed hurriedly out of the compartment. The cart had been parked in a dim stable, filled to the rafters with bundles of hay. Aisles stretched off on either side of us, and two brown-liveried stable boys were taking away our horses which had been tether to the back of the wagon.  
  
"Did you have a nice trip?"  
  
I turned to see who had spoken. Kaelin waved at me from where she sat in a pile of hay. "Sorry it took so long, but I guarantee that no one saw you guys come in."  
  
I started to get to my feet. "I don't doubt it, but wasn't it all just a bit elaborate?"  
  
"Maybe," She admitted, "But it did the job."  
  
"My sister, you may have noticed, has a slight tendency toward the elaborate. She never was satisfied with a simple solution."  
  
All heads turned to look at the newcomer, a slender man of medium height, his long black hair gathered into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Inclining his head toward us, he moved to stand next to Kaelin. His fine clothes looked distinctly out of place in the dim stable, but in spite of the dust floating through the air his sweeping green silk coat and white linen trousers were immaculate. A heavy silver pendant inset with a large aquamarine dangled from a fine silver chain around his neck, an elaborate family crest stamped into the plate below the gem. A merchant then, and from a well-to-do family to boot.  
  
I frowned suddenly. Kaelin, a thief, was his sister?  
  
"Lyke, do yourself a favor and shut up will you?" Kaelin said sourly, picking up a handful of hay and throwing it at him.  
  
Lyke watched calmly as the chaff fell pitifully short, drifting down to land on the dirt floor. "Kaelin, you don't flatter yourself by acting like that."  
  
"I've never tried to." Getting up out of the hay, Kaelin dusted herself off and looked at us. "Well? Are you planning on growing roots or something?"  
  
Climbing hurriedly down from the cart, Ry and I followed the two out of the barn and into a small, sunlit courtyard, framed on all sides by impressive stone buildings. Leaning close to Kaelin's ear as we walked, I whispered "Brother?"  
  
"It was an accident of birth." She said shortly. "Trust me, if I'd had the choice, I would have been born into a nice, common family."  
  
"But you-" I trailed off, then tried again. "He-!"  
  
Ahead of us Lyke chuckled as we approached a large oaken door leading into the largest of the buildings. "You're confused? 'Valince' is just a faux surname she uses nowadays. Her proper name, my proper name, is Alphine- "  
  
"Don't remind me," she shuddered.  
  
"-but the rest of the family disowned her five years ago."  
  
"Happiest day of my life." She glared at Ry and I from the corner of her eye. "And if either of you ever mention that name again in conjunction with mine, I'll beat the both of you into a bloody pulp, got it?"  
  
"I'd never dream of it," Ry told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. Whatever had been up with him earlier, it had passed now. He stood to one side as a servant opened the door, then glanced over toward Lyke. "Whatever the case may be with your sister here, you at least appear to be well off."  
  
The black-haired man shrugged easily and stepped through the door, nodding at his servants as he passed. "One has had some moderate success with business," he said modestly.  
  
As we followed him out of the sunlight and into the cool interior I felt my mouth drop. Whatever success he had had with business, calling it 'moderate' was quite clearly the same as calling a blacksmith's forge 'temperate'. Elaborate tapestries covered the corridor walls and the black marble floor tiles had been buffed until they gleamed. Unlit bronze oil lamps stood on narrow stone pillars, their waxed wicks neatly trimmed and awaiting nightfall. Dark mahogany doors, some open and some closed, were situated at regular intervals along the hall. At the far end, just before a large set of open double doors that led into a cavernous room that could only be described as a Grand Hall was a broad, sweeping staircase, the dark wooded banisters inlayed with gold. Somewhere nearby food was being prepared; the savory scents of roasting fowl and baking bread hung heavy one the air.  
  
While I stood gawking, Kaelin took it all in with a lazy glance, seemingly unimpressed. "You're business may have improved since I saw you last, but your taste certainly has taken a turn for the worst."  
  
Lyke frowned at the unlit lamps. "It's all for show," he said absently. "It's easy to overwhelm people with a show of wealth, and people are easy to deal with when they're stunned."  
  
Wordlessly, Ry reached over and pushed my jaw closed.  
  
  
  
"Haschel Got Run Over By A Wingly"  
  
~A Shade Strife Christmas Song Spoof  
  
Chorus:  
  
Haschel got run over by a wingly Coming back from our house Christmas Eve You can say you don't believe in justice But as for me and Lavitz, we believe.  
  
He'd been drinking too much whiskey And we said he had to go So we grabbed him by the ankles; Then locked the door and left him in the snow  
  
When we found him the next morning At the scene of the attack There were burn marks on his forehead And incriminating sledgemarks on his back  
  
Chorus  
  
Sorry, but I can't say that we miss him So we took it rather well But something of him seems to linger And it's more than just the prunes and funny smell  
  
It's still Christmas, same as ever Though we're all dressed up in black But we just can't help but wonder Do we open up the gifts- or send them back?  
  
Chorus  
  
Now Meru's dancing on the table She's had far too much to drink And we hope she doesn't notice As we pour her mountain dew all down the sink.  
  
We've warned all our friends and neighbors Better watch out for yourselves They should never give a soda To a girl who totes a sledge and can 'see' elves!  
  
^-^ MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! Sorry that the chapter was shorter then what they have been lately, but it Christmas Day and that seemed like a good spot to leave things off for now. -.- Need to eat turkey. 


	40. Business

**Dart, Garren, Zion, and Kaelin are pounding on a heavy door, that appears to have been locked, bolted, and chained shut with a couch shoved against it just for good measure**

Dart: C'mon, Shade! You have to come out sometime!

Shade: **from somewhere behind the door** Hssssssssssssss!

All: o.o

Kaelin: Am I imagining things, or did she just hiss?

Argh. I reach the end of the semester, and with this closing comes the dreaded post-Christmas exams. The bane of every student's existence. And so, in a vain effort to escape this reality, I've been re-establishing my fetish for Escaflowne. It is, and might always be, my favorite anime. Heck, it's what got me hooked on drawing the stuff, at any rate. Not that my parents are entirely pleased with this. Dad made the mistake of allowing me to paint a mural on my wall shortly after I found the earliest screenshots for the movie, and as a result I've had a half-finished, six foot high mural on my wall of Van and Hitomi set against the back-drop of a lake at night for, say, the last two years or so. The scenery takes up most of the picture, unfortunately, and scenery's not my big thing. Oh well. Maybe I'll post a picture of it someday, if I get it finished before I move out. Scary thought, that. I've been seventeen for a week now and I'm still in denial about the whole thing. 

Alright, enough ranting. For now.

Son of Darkness- Well, there will be more females coming into the story, but I haven't really made up my mind about much more than that, though. I won't be resurrecting anyone, though the idea's interesting. I SUCK at writing those sort of things. :P

Sors- Garren? Don't worry. He'll be back, sooner or later. -.-; He'd kick my ass if I didn't let him back in. Oh, and in answer to your poking, there will be a Ulara sidestory coming up. I do have it started, just not finished. ^^

Magical Mage- ^____________^ don't worry. The whole 'big secret' bit will come out in due time. I'm a big fan of the whole startling revelation thing, and I do have it planned out in my head. It won't be for quite a while yet though. 

**Kaelin's POV:**

I wasn't happy about having to turn to my brother for help. We've both lived in Bale for years, though with one thing and another (and a bit of intended avoidance), I hadn't really seen him since my fifteenth birthday. Until now, that is. To be honest, if I had thought that I could have brought Zion and Ry into the city by any other way as safely, I would have. But as usual, I came up shorthanded on options. 

It's not that I don't trust him. Of course I don't trust him; only a fool could honestly trust anyone in my family. That was something I'd grown up with, however, so it was a secondary matter. But following Lyke up the broad staircase, watching his back as he chatted solicitously with Ry, I couldn't help but wish that I knew what he was thinking. 

The room my brother led us to was on the top floor of his establishment, and as insensibly embellished as the downstairs entrance. He called the dining room, but much of the space along the walls that was not taken up by gaudy Tiberoian tapestries was occupied by rows of squat, polished bookcases. For all of his show for business, Lyke really is a scholar at heart. I believe it was he who first taught me to read, after his tutor resigned. Not that the plain wood of the shelves did anything to sober the mood of the room. A narrow tasseled runner, embroidered with a dizzying swirl of purple, gold, and crimson thread was stretched overtop of them, and a large blackwood figurine of a rearing elephant was stationed at either end. The wood floor was covered with plush carpets of varying hues, changing in places where the light from the large stained glass window fell across it. Large chandeliers, fashioned to looks as though they had been made from cartwheels, hung from the ceiling on thick iron chains. In fact, the only thing that could have been called plain was the large table set in the center of the room, surrounded by matching ladder-backed chairs. Carved stone bowls, the bottoms filled with lavender incense, smoldered gently on the table. The result of the whole affair was to leave me with the vague impression of a circus carnival and feeling slightly nauseous.

"Flamboyant," Ry commented to me in a low voice as we filed into the room. 

"He has to be colorblind," I stated blandly, not bothering to keep my voice down, "There's no other explanation."

If Lyke had heard, or even cared, he gave no sign. Waving a hand carelessly at the table, he moved toward the seat at the head of the table. "Please take a seat. Dinner will be up momentarily. In the meantime, may I offer you some wine? I managed to obtain a particularly fine vintage from a vineyard outside of Doneau. I think you should find it quite to your liking."

Zion nodded dumbly, still recovering from the initial shock of seeing so much wealth in one place. Standing awkwardly with the top of his head almost brushing one of the hanging chandeliers, he looked distinctly out of place as he pulled one of the chairs out from the table and started to sit gingerly before suddenly remembering the great sword he carried slung across his back. Flushing, he undid the strap that passed across his chest and set the massive thing on the floor with a muffled 'clunk' before taking his seat. Ry looked a little more at ease, unimpressed if he didn't look like he quite belonged in the lavish surroundings. Strange, he didn't look like the sort that you'd find rubbing elbows with the wealthy. Then again, you can never tell.

Picking up a small ivory tiger from where it lay on the tabletop I turned it over in my fingers. It was an old piece of work and the once-pure colour had begun to stain brown in some spots, but ivory never lost its value. Surreptitiously I slipped it down the front of my shirt, concealing the movement by brushing the hair out of my eyes, which fell immediately back into place. Lyke, who had left the table to fetch a flagon of wine from where it was stored in a rack at the back of the room, didn't notice.

"Kaelin? Would you like some as well? And your friend?"

Ry nodded and I shrugged, feeling the spirit stored in my vest pocket bump against my ribs. "Whatever. Just as long as you don't spit in it or anything."

The bottle thumped onto the table and Lyke raised an eyebrow at me. "As memory serves, you were the one with that unfortunate habit, not me. I would have thought that you'd have outgrown those childish suspicions."

I flashed him a grin, acutely aware of the smooth ivory warming against my skin. "Old habits die hard." I told him glibly. 

He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but a polite knock at the door forestalled his comment. The door inched open slightly, and a woman's face poked into view. "Master Alphine?" Ah. A servant.

"Tara?" Lyke's voice carried a hint of annoyance. "I rang for dinner five minutes ago. I expect there is a reason for this?"

Tara's flushed face paled noticeably. Probably in her mid-twenties, she had a plump, girlish face and large green eyes that belied her age. At the moment they were huge with worry, and her hair, which was caught up elaborately in a multitude of tiny plaits, swung back and forth as she nodded vigorously. "It's Merriam, sir. She took ill just now and almost fainted onto the stove. Please, sir." 

Lyke left the bottle alone, concern replacing annoyance almost instantaneously. Moving quickly toward the door, he turned before exiting, Tara hovering anxiously at his elbow. "I'm sorry Kaelin but I have to attend to this. If you'll wait on me?" Without another word he swept out, closing the door after him. 

For a moment the room was silent as we listened to the retreating footsteps in the hallway. When all sounds had faded at last, Zion heaved a sigh and slumped in his seat. "Damn."

Getting out of my seat, I padded across the carpets and cautiously opened the door, peering into the hallway outside. When I was satisfied that it was empty I pulled my head back inside and slowly shut the door. "What are you so relieved about? All he did was offer you some wine."

"It's not that. This whole place has me on edge. I've never seen so much wealth in one place before, that's all." Zion reached across the table to a fruit bowl nestled in between two incense dishes. Selecting a rather shrunken looking apple, he rubbed it one his shirt before taking a bite. "I don't know how you can stand it."

I shrugged and looked over at Ry, who had moved to one of the windows and was watching events on the street below with passing interest. His sword, I noticed, still hung at his belt. "Well?"

He glanced at me before turning his gaze back out to the shadowed streets. "Well what?"

"You don't seem very impressed."

"I've seen better. Or worse, depending on how you want to look at it. Your brother seems to be nice enough."

I laughed. "Oh, he's very polite. He'll keep being polite, right up until he's swindled or robbed you of every last bit of coin you have."

"Hyfe foughf-" Zion swallowed his mouthful of apple. "I thought you said that you're the thief."

"A thief and a merchant are two sides of the same coin." I told him. "Seriously? He puts on a nice show, but when you get right down to it you can't trust him."

Ry turned away from the window. "So why the hell are we here then?"

I shrugged. "Because we can't really trust anyone else either. And at least with Lyke I know what to expect. We are family, after all. And since to him it seems that I've put my trust in him, that puts me at an advantage."

"But what if he knows that you don't trust him?" Zion asked.

"Oh, he knows that I don't trust him. I never have. But what he doesn't know is that I know that he knows that I don't trust him. And as long as I can stay a step ahead of him, we don't have anything to worry about. Oh, and speaking of which? Watch what you accept from him after this. He has better manners than to drug guests the first time they sit at his table, and I don't think that he'd stoop so low as to drug the wine, but you never know." 

"Drugged wine?" Ry gave me a look. "You must have had quite the childhood."

"That's not the half of it. My youngest brother's a real bastard. Tried to stick a little knife in my ribs once when I stole his toy dog. I have seven siblings and sadly Lyke is the best of them. Which is odd, 'cause he's also the oldest. Funny how things work, huh?"

"Hilarious." Zion looked slightly pale, for some reason. "So what are we going to do?"

I shrugged. "Whatever we were going to do in the first place. We just have to be careful about how we go about things. Speaking of which-" I gave Zion a pointed look "-if you plan on moving around outside at all, we're going to have to do something about you're looks."

"What's wrong with the way I look? Oh right, the temple." He scratched his chin sheepishly. "I guess I do stand out a bit, huh?" He thumbed the pale scars marring the left side of his face meaningfully. 

"Just a bit." I replied dryly. "We might be able to pass you off as a merchant's guard or something, but you're going to have to leave your sword behind. You may be able to get away with towering over everyone, but people will definitely notice a big knife like that. I'll pick some things up this evening and take care of it tomorrow. You too, Ry. You look like a cloud of doom always running around in that coat."

Lyke returned a short time later, pushing open the closed doors and sweeping through with four tray-bearing servants in tow. With another murmured apology he took his seat, motioning us to do the same as the food was laid out on the table. Garbed in blue and white, with the silver tree-and-thorn crest of Alphine sewn over the heart, they moved quickly but surely, keeping their eyes down as they set out the dishes. Three woman, but Tara was not among them. I made a mental note of this fact as I reached over a bowl of fruit to pick up a dish of what looked like curried chicken. 

As the servants filed quietly out, shutting the door soundlessly behind them, Lyke spooned rice pudding onto his plate. "I hope you'll forgive me if I chat while you eat? It's rare that I have company that's not related to business."

"Whatever," I told him around a mouthful of curry, deliberately letting some of the yellow sauce dribble onto the white tablecloth. "Oops." I dabbed at my mouth with a napkin. "You wouldn't mind passing the cheese? No, not that one, the other one. With the walnuts. Thank you."

For a few moments we ate in silence. Across from me Zion picked at his curry, a slight frown creasing his brow as he carefully picked out the raisins, pushing them into a small pile on the side of his plate. I raised an eyebrow, but when I caught his eye he just half-grinned and shrugged. Suppressing a sigh, I turned my attention back to my own plate. Picky eater. 

At last, when the plates were almost cleared, Lyke pushed his away. "Kaelin, you never did say how long you were planning on staying."

I looked up briefly from my rice pudding and shot a warning glance at Zion and Ry before answering. "I dunno. A week, maybe? We ran into trouble with a merchant in Hoax, so we figured it might be a good time to get out and see what the rest of the country has to offer. Unfortunately, sleeping outside with the ground as a mattress and the stars as a blanket isn't as appealing as it sounds."

He rolled his eyes. "What did you steal this time?"

"Why do you always assume the worst about me?" I complained, and then corrected myself. "Okay, we were going for his coffers. But we got surprised on the way out, and it's taken us the better part of three days to shake his bully-boys off."

"Interesting. And here I thought that you were going to meet up with someone in Seles."

Through sheer force of will I managed to keep my face smooth, though a wave of anger blossomed in the back of my mind. So the jackass kept tabs on me? It wasn't surprising, but still! 

I shrugged, and then reached for an apple. "That was these two here, but they met up with me early on in the mountains. Then we changed course and headed for Hoax." 

"Ah. So-" he paused for a moment, searching for a name. "Dominick, was it?" he inquired, looking at Ry. He nodded his head, and I almost shook mine before I realized what I was doing. Then again, I don't know why I was surprised. Anyone who's been running from the temples as long as he claimed to probably changes their name more often then they do their clothes. 

The conversation grew steadily less interesting from there. After ten minutes or so of small talk, Lyke pushed his chair back from the table at last. "Well I don't think that I can help you very much in terms of this merchant, but you're welcome to stay here for as long as you have need. Just try to avoid getting into trouble? I've spent a long time working on a decent reputation, and I would want to have that ruined by someone discovering that I have ties with thieves."

"So what? You already deal part-time with the smugglers."

Lyke waved his hand dismissivly. "So does everyone else. But no one wants to admit it. It would be just plain degrading." He gave one of the bell pulls a sharp tug, and moments later the door swung open to admit a slim serving girl, hardly more than a child. "If you'll follow Darcy, she'll show you to your apartments."

"Uh, I think the three of us will be sharing an apartment, if that's not to much to ask."

Lyke's smile didn't waver. "Not at all. Darcy?"

One by one we left our seats and followed the girl out into the hall. Getting up from my seat, I hesitated, and then grabbed another apple for later. But before I could leave, Lyke's voice brought me up short. 

"That's an interesting pair you've landed yourself with. From what I've seen, you usually like to work alone."

Clenching my jaw briefly, I hooked my thumbs into my belt and turned around. Lyke was leaning against one of the bookcases, still smiling slightly. Inwardly I cursed. Part of what made Lyke so difficult to deal with was that damn smile. He could be looking into the jaws of death and that bloody grin would never so much as twitch. It was better than a poker face, for the simple fact that you could never tell whether or not you had him cornered or if it was the other way around. "Solo has its benefits, but sometimes it pays to have a bit of extra muscle along."

"Ah. So tell me, what happened to the coffers you stole?"

"You really think I'd tell you that?" I asked disgustedly. "I'm not an idiot Lyke. Goodnight," I told him turning for the door.

"Goodnight. Oh, and Kaelin?"

I hesitated, glancing back over my shoulder.

"I'd prefer if you left the ivory tiger. I'm rather fond of it."

**Dart's POV:**

Bells were tolling somewhere in the city, their joyful peals echoing out over the rooftops as they rang out the hour. Lying comfortably between a set of clean sheets for what seemed like the first time in ages, I groaned and buried my head under the down-filled pillow. /What time is it?/ I asked groggily. For some reason having a full night's rest made me feel more tired than when I'd settled in the night before.

//Seven. They decided to let you sleep in//

/Huh?/ I sat up, rubbing my eyes. Pale morning light streamed through a gap in the heavy velvet drapes, illuminating a stretch of carpets woven in more somber shades of dark blue and green. Whatever tastes Lyke may have had for décor, it didn't extend into the bedrooms. The large black lacquered bed on which I sat took up most of the floor space, but there was also a small nightstand and a plain wooden chair that was currently burdened down by the heap of clothes I'd tossed over it the night before. An old map of Endiness hung framed on the painted white walls, the room's only real decoration aside from the frosted glass filling the windows. The door was closed, but the sounds of conversation in the next room carried through in a muted undertone. 

/How long have they been up?/ I asked sliding out of bed. The apartment we were staying in consisted of three small bedrooms and one slightly larger common room, but it was large enough that the guests could move around without disturbing one another. I wondered how Ark knew.

In answer to the unvoiced question Ark replied dryly //They were arguing about something again. That woman has quite an impressive voice when she uses it properly//

I started to pull my clothes out of the heap on the chair, then stopped as a package on the nightstand caught my eye. Vaguely I remembered Kaelin dropping it off the night before, after she'd come back from wandering around the city. Pulling away the grimy paper, my mouth twitched as I rifled through the contents. A low, broad brimmed hat. Coarsely spun trousers and a light, blue-grey shirt. I sifted through the rest of it, but aside from a short brown dustcoat it was occupied by several flat flasks of healing fog.

With a sigh I grabbed the shirt and began to pull it on with some difficulty. Only having one useful hand caused no end of problems: I'd have to find a physician to have another look at it soon. 

When I came into the main room I was greeted with the warm scents of fresh bread and sausages, wafting from a covered tray sitting on a wool-stuffed armchair. In contrast to the bedrooms, the walls of the living room were painted a deep yellow, and bright paintings occupied whatever wall space was not taken up by a blocky wooden frieze. Red and black carpets patterned after a maze marched across the floor, strewn here and there with fat velvet cushions. 

Someone had dragged a bench to the middle of the room. Zion was sitting on it cross-legged, frowning at the floor while Kaelin fussed over him with a horsehair brush and a jar of coffee colored liquid. He looked up as I entered, and scowled. "Don't say a bloody word!"

I stared for a moment, then turned my attention to the tray. "Kaelin, what the hell are you doing to him?"

//He looks like a piebald//

Kaelin spared me an irritated glance before returning to her work. "The temples are looking for a Serdian right? So- hold still! Do you really want a brush in the eye?" This last was directed to Zion, who was squirming uncomfortably as she flicked the brush across his cheekbones. Most of his exposed skin was stained light brown. Here and there his normal tone showed through in patches; Kaelin was working away busily with what I assumed was some sort of dye to cover these up. "That's better. Now stay still."

"So what are you going to do?" I pulled the cover off of the tray. Fresh bread, eggs, and a few sausages. A mug filled with tea. My stomach growled loudly at the sight of the food, and I dug in indiscriminately. 

"I can't make him any shorter, stupid freak, but at least if he's dark enough he might be able to pass himself off as an islander. I'll cover over those scars with some putty or something. No one'll know the difference. It's usually a mixed lot down around the docks anyway, so he should fit right in. As long as he leaves that bloody sword of his behind." She looked up at me meaningfully. "You too. There's a prohibition against anyone but soldiers carrying weapons in the streets nowadays, so you'd just be attracting unwanted attention. That knife in your boot should be okay, though. And for the sake of the goddess, put that damn hat on! Why the hell do you think I bought it?"

/She's such a nice girl in the mornings, have you noticed?/ I ripped off a chunk of bread and shoved it into my mouth, not trusting myself to speak aloud

//Just do what she says. Push her too far and she might decide that you'd look nice all splotchy too//

I jammed the hat on my head and headed for the door. "I'm going to go have a look around. Haven't been here much, recently." 

Kaelin watched me go. "Right. For the sake of Soa, hold still!" she added as Zion yelped and gave a little jump.

"You just stuck that damn brush in my ear!" Zion snapped, dye dribbling down his chin.

"I wouldn't have if you hadn't _moved_, Patches!"

"_PATCHES_?!"

I left the room rather hastily at that point.

~ ~ ~

I stood on a street corner just out of sight of Lyke's establishment, trying to get my bearings. There was a slight bite to the air; not cold enough for frost, but plenty to remind anyone that the long summer had reached its end. The streets were almost empty, but here and there a few people had begun to go about their business. Once a cart rattled by, the bed piled high with an early harvest of turnips and the sleepy driver swaying slightly on the rickety seat while he guided his placid animal haphazardly. Buildings built from brick and mortar loomed all around, casting long shadows over the cobbled streets. 

/Any ideas?/

//I don't think we should head to the docks just yet// Ark said, watching a girl and her mother cross the street in front of us. //It's a little early. Let's head for the temple//

/I thought we were going to avoid it this time around?/ I asked, starting up the street all the same.

//We need to find out if Ayrel's been through here lately. The last thing we need right now is to run into her or her mother head on// 

/Notice you don't mention the father/

//Garren's been looking forward to meeting Mathis again face-to-face for sixteen years now. I wouldn't want to disappoint him//

/Funny. You take every other opportunity to/ I rounded a corner and found myself standing on a paved stone walk overlooking the river that cut through the middle of the city. The street was more crowded here; wagon drivers hollered and cursed at one another as each fought to head the queue leading to the docks. Townsfolk wandered in and around the creaking contraptions, unconcernedly ignoring the wagons save to get in the way or exchange a few friendly curses with the screaming drivers.

I joined the flow, letting myself be jostled about by the crowd. The grand majority of the people seemed to be traveling in the same direction, so I followed along. At this hour of the morning, there was really only one place that this many people would be going anyhow. After fifteen minutes of being bumped and pushed, the twin spires of the temple slowly rose into view. I use the term 'rose' quite literally. After the roof had come into sight, towering over the rooftops around it, it took another fifteen minutes to reach outer walls. Yes, walls.

//They've been making some improvements// Ark noted. //I wonder whatever possessed them to think that they needed walls and a moat?//

/It's not much of a moat. See? There's some kids paddling in it over there/

//Alright, a ditch then? It's not like these would keep anyone out for very long//

/Probably just to impress people. This is the cult's seat of power in Serdio, really/ 

//I'm sure that the paper boats are absolutely terrifying under the right circumstances// He said dryly as we stepped out of the crowd and into the doorway of a shop. The walls loomed nearby, twenty feet of grey stone rearing up out of the ground. Beyond it could be seen the upper levels of the temple which, from where I stood now, looked to be the rival of Indel's castle for size, at least.

/So what now?/

//Just ask around a bit. Mention that you heard a rumor that Ayrel's in the city or something like that//

/What if she is?/

//Then we'll have to make a break for it// Ark replied sourly. He hated the idea that Ayrel was forcing us to run as much as I did, but there was no help for it. //Just talk to people, Dart. They aren't going to bite//

I shrugged and moved back off of the doorstep and into the crowd once again, but there wasn't much to learn. A few were willing to share gossip, but most would look at me blankly before moving on again without a word. At the end of an hour I'd only picked up on one rumor that might have had a grain of truth in it, but that placed Asalla at the temple almost a week ago. In any case, the general consensus agreed that if she had been here, she was gone now. When the bells began to toll again, high above the city, I made my way back down the street, intending to head for the docks. Hopefully we'd have better luck finding someone or something that would help us there.

**Kaelin's POV:**

The day passed. Another followed in short order. And then the rest got sick of waiting and all rushed at us at once. Before we knew it, we'd been in Bale for nearly a week and had still been unable to find a ship whose captain was willing to take us to Fueno.

Heck, just finding a ship was hard enough.

Rain sleeted against the windows when I woke in the later hours of the morning. I'd spent most of last night running around the taverns and dives lining the waterfront with Zion, trying to find a captain. Of course, these areas aren't normally the sort to be frequented by women late at night, even in company, and as a result I'd picked up a fine set of bruises and a nasty lump on my leg 'discouraging' several ale soaked sailors. As much as I hated to admit it, Zion had been useful to have along. Even without his sword, the man was worth his weight in gold when it came to street fights. 

I lay under the covers for a few minutes, enjoying the sound of rain splattering against the windowpanes. There was something infinitely comforting about the sound, and I closed my eyes and snuggled deeper into the downy pillows contentedly. Maybe I could lie in for a while. It wasn't like anyone would miss me.

The sound was familiar…

**_Rain pelted against the windows. _

It was another of the many spring storms that frequented the coast of Mille Seseau and as always, the port city of Furni was being hit hard. Not so hard that the heaving waves would tear apart the docks again, thank goodness, but still hard enough that the driving wind and rain erased all possibility of going outside to play. And so the children were confined to the indoors of the Alphine Estate, located on the outskirts of the western edge of the city. It shouldn't have made much of a difference -the floor space of the mansion alone was at least twice the size of the grounds outside- but, as Kaelin reflected, there were no puddles inside to jump in.

Her siblings were scattered through the rooms, playing hide-and-seek, tag, and in general just getting in the way of the servants. Normally she would have been off playing with them, but today she just felt, well, bored. You could only play the same games so many times before you lost interest. And besides, her ninth birthday was approaching, hardly a full week away. Games were for little kids and nine years old was practically all grown up. And her father had told her that when she grew up, she could help with the business. Just like Shane and Lyke.

Seated on a padded window seat, she frowned and chewed on a loose strand of hair. It wasn't fair that they got to help father and she didn't. Well, Lyke she could see; he was sixteen after all. But Shane had hardly turned eleven. Granted, he was under supervision, and any of his decisions were changed or ignored according to whatever father thought was appropriate, but still. 

Anyway, where were they? She hadn't seen either of her brothers all morning. Sliding off of the seat, she padded off down the hallway, peeking through the doorways as she went.

She wandered through the wing of the house kept for living purposes, avoiding her other sisters and brothers so as not to be drawn into a game. But they were nowhere to be found. On the landing that stood between the east and west wing of the house, arching over the main hall, she paused and bit her lip. Father wouldn't be happy if he caught her running around in the business areas of the estate, but where else was there to look?

Here the décor was a bit more elaborate, dark mahoganies inlayed with gold and silver sitting on woven carpets imported from Lideria. Father always did like to try to impress people. He said it was the best way to keep them off balance. And when someone's off balance, they're as good as soft putty in your hand. This was one lesson Kaelin had taken in with her mother's milk. Her stockinged feet made almost no sound as she crept through the hallways, trying to look as though she belonged here. The servants she met in the hallway gave her some strange looks, but they said nothing, thankfully. 

But the rooms were empty. She had almost given up and was about to head back to the nursery when she heard Father's voice coming from behind a closed door to her left. 

For a moment Kaelin stood stock still in the middle of the hallway in agonized indecision. If father caught her here, old Mary the nurse would tan her bottom. But then again, if father was inside behind the door, then that meant that father couldn't sneak up from behind her in the hallway. In the end curiosity got the better of her and she pressed her eye to the keyhole, straining her ears to listen.

"…get in touch with Rona. He'll know what to do." Father's deep voice, calm and controlled as always. 

"But Father, this isn't right, is it?" Kaelin gave a start, then pressed her eye harder against the hole. In the room beyond, she could just make out Lyke moving in and out of her line of vision. He must have been pacing.

"Right and wrong are just words, Lyke." A note of impatience crept into Father's voice. "They have no place in the matter. This is business."

"But-?"

"Arron, have the necessary arrangements made with Rona. Milliarda has slipped into the deep end this time, I'm afraid."

"Father!"

"Lyke!" Father's voice was hard, flat. "Clean your ears out and remember this: Business is business. Morals have little place in something like this."

Startled, she pulled away. Was Lyke crying? It sounded like it. Unnerved, Kaelin trotted away, desperate to put as much room between her and that door as possible.

Three days later Vardun Milliarda, a successful merchant who'd just recently begun to expand his trade into the areas that had until then been monopolized by the Alphine family, quietly disappeared without a trace**

I sat up, blinking hard. The rain outside was falling harder now; the din of it beating the glass must have woken me. I pushed the hair back off my forehead at stared dumbly at the coverlet. What had I been dreaming about? It had been familiar, but like most of my dreams it vanished like fog before I could pin the details down.

There was a knock at the door. A moment later Zion stuck his head in. "Hey, are you planning on sleeping all day? You're off to a good start." Pushing the door open farther he leaned against the doorframe. "Ry's already gone down to the docks."

"Huh?" I shook my head, trying to clear it. "What, in this weather?"

"Said he doesn't mind the rain." Zion shrugged. The dye on his skin had faded somewhat after a bath, but it still looked convincingly like a dark tan. "Oh, and we're invited to breakfast again."

"Really?" I yawned. "Lyke's a chatterbox. Now. You. Out." I pushed back the covers and started to rummage around for a change of clothes.

I got dressed quickly and pulled a comb fitfully through my uneven hair. The other day I'd picked up a pair of throwing knives from a friend in the city. I lifted them up from where they lay on the top of my nightstand, pulling one from its flat sheath and fingering the keen blade thoughtfully. They were only blades; no hilts. Unorthodox to be sure, but they had saved my life countless times before. They were no replacement for a good saber of course. Sitting on the floor, I grabbed my boot and bent it, slipping the bare blade between the thick leather bottom and the thinner sole. Little knives, but a little knife no one knew you had all the same. I repeated this with the other blade in the other boot as well, making sure that they were hidden.

~ ~ ~

Glowing braziers lined the hallway, radiating an even warmth to offset the damp that was seeping through the brick walls. The light flickered off of the rich tapestries and paintings lining the walls, somehow making the corridor seem darker and warmer than I knew it actually was. Following Tara down the hall to the dining room I let my mind wander. Lyke must be expecting someone important today; it would be costing too much to keep the house this warm for any reason otherwise.

When we finally reached the dining room Lyke was waiting for us, staring out a window across the rooftops. I took a seat, motioning for Zion to do the same. There was a slight chill in the air here that surprised me; no one had been in to prepare the room before our arrival. Tara bustled about now, lighting a thin wand of wood and touching it to the underside of the braziers; watching critically as they crackled to life. When she was satisfied, she continued around lighting various lamps and candles and finally the twin bowls of incense on the table. She set a stone pitcher of water on the table then dusted off her skirts and slipped out, leaving us alone with my brother. The scent wafted slowly through the room; a faint clean smell that reminded me vaguely of mint. 

Lyke turned away from the window at last, taking his seat at the head of the table. He looked tired. Dark shadows hung under his eyes, and for once he looked older than he really was, rather than a few years younger. He started to reach for an apple, then paused.

"Where's your friend?"

"Huh? Oh, him. He went out into town earlier on this morning. Said that there was something he needed to pick up."

"Ah." He took a bite out of an apple, then pushed the bowl towards us. Zion muttered his thanks and helped himself to the fresh fruit. I declined politely, pushing the bowl away. Food didn't appeal to me this morning, for some reason. I toyed with my glass without drinking, watching the water swill around in the bottom. "You look tired," I said at last. "Something keeping you up?"

Lyke smiled, then shook his head. "A messenger came in last night with the current prices in Deningrad. Someone's managed to undercut my prices a week back in the spice market there, it would seem. We're suffering a bit because of it."

"Ah. Wachya gonna do about it?"

"There's nothing to do. Things have already been taken care of." He smiled thinly. "My people are well trained."

"Not assassination, I hope." I said bluntly.

"What a horrible thing to suggest. Wherever did you get that notion?"

"Just let it lie, brother dear." I stared back into the glass, watching the water again. Oh well, he wasn't the only one who was a bit out of it. Goddess I was tired. The warmth from the brazier at my back didn't help matters any either. I blinked slowly. The light made pretty reflections in the water.

Then again, I wasn't the only one who was tired. In his seat to my left, Zion had begun to slump forward in his seat…

I snapped my head up, sluggish thoughts moving slowly through my head. What was going on? Pushing my chair back from the table, I got to my feet. Or tried to at least. Before I'd risen halfway my legs turned to jelly beneath me and I slid to the floor, hitting my elbow hard on the table as I went down. But the pain felt far away, distant. 

_Drugged._

But I hadn't eaten or drank anything. Then how…?

_The incense,_ I realized, struggling through the thick fog that seemed to be choking my brain. _That bastard!_ I raged silently to myself, but the curses quickly lost their meaning. I lay there on my back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, which faded in and out of sight.

Above me, Lyke's blurred face swam slowly across my vision. 

"You bastard," I slurred.

Wetness dribbled onto my forehead; cold water dripping from the wet handkerchief he held over his nose and mouth. So that's why he was still standing. "You really shouldn't use language like that, sister. It's most unbecoming in a lady. Besides," he added, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled humorlessly, "you know as well as I do that business is business. And preferred trading status with the Serdian Temples is something that one can't pass up lightly." 

Blackness closed in.

Sorry for the delay, but now exams are finished, and I've survived without having a mental breakdown.

…well, that's debatable. 


	41. Side Story4

Sors- Kick his arse to the Moon and back? @_@ Dat a lotta kickin'

Goochflex- Garren be back soon. ^^ No worries there.

Angelus Zion- Are they green? They look blue on my TV. Oh well, I'll keep them blue, just for the sake of not confusing my little mind.

Sword Master Jeff- What was the incense? Not really sure, actually. I just liked the idea of it. ^^

Brutal2003- Time frame? It's closer to eight or nine hundred, actually. I skipped over some of the Moon Children earlier on, mainly because I didn't see the necessity for writing in every one.

That's all for now. I'm getting back to the happenings in Bale next chapter. PH34R. Or complain about the delay. Either works. ^-^

Side Story #4

The sun was at its zenith in the sky overhead; it's baking rays not quite able to penetrate the invisible barrier of magic that sheltered Ulara. Instead the town remained pleasantly cool, if not just a trifle chilly. Thin clouds of vapor were beginning to form near the height of the dome, but it would be a while yet before it would begin to rain. 

Heaving a sigh, Nova shifted around on the bench until she was seated in the sunlight again. The weather was one of the few constants these days in Ulara. The timeless town had lost its sleepy quality, shedding it like an old cloak and instead donning a new one of watchful alertness. And yet there was very little that they could actually do to affect the outside world. In the sixteen years that had passed since the birth of Asalla's daughter, only Garren had returned to Ulara once, briefly, three years ago. Because he was staying to train in the island village of Rogue the news he had brought was piecemeal at best, but none of the implications of the situation where good. Ayrel's power was growing exponentially. The cult had rallied to her almost immediately after confirming her, but that was to be expected. They did worship her, after all. Surrounded by the cult and dually protected by Asalla and Mathis, the child was as inaccessible as the Moon itself.

A cool wind rustled the leaves of the tree branch overhead, and Nova drew her crocheted shawl closer around her. She supposed that she could have joined Garren and Dart in trying to track the child down, but it was therein that the problem lie. Even if Charle would eventually decide to change Ulara's taboos, she wondered if she would be strong enough to do it. In the years that she had known Asalla before she had given birth to the child, Nova had been one of the few that had ever been able to consider the distant woman a close friend. Garren had shared similar sentiments, she knew. As for Dart and Ragnarok, well, who ever really knew what they thought? Even so, the speed with which the three of them had come to accept Asalla as the enemy was unnerving. 

**_Nova sat on the edge of Garren's bed, watching as he hastily shoved his few belongings into a reinforced canvas sack. Admitably that was not much, but then again the bag was small and by necessity they'd have to be travelling light. His face was flushed, and his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot as he tightened the straps that held the mouth of the bag shut. Nova wouldn't have put it past him to have been crying, but whatever had gone on earlier, his eyes were dry now. _

"Garren? Are you sure you don't want to think this over?" she asked anxiously. Tucking her legs to her chest, she watched him overtop of her knees. 

He lifted the bag, hefting it a few times to test the weight before setting it down again. Turning away from her, Garren pressed his hand to a small protruding pad in the wall. "I already told you, Nova. I'm not going to change my mind." His wings appeared briefly, shimmering in the dim light, then the magic in the air faded and the storage door popped open. Hurriedly, he began sorting through the racks of clothes inside.

"Why? Can't Dart and Ragnarok handle this on their own? They don't need you along all the time, you know."

Roughly he jerked off his rumpled and stained shirt and tossed it aside. Pulling out a vest made from thick black leather, banded with ribs of steel, he slipped it on and began to do up the laces holding it closed in front. "If I don't, he's going to have one hell of a job to do alone. Besides, we're going to be doing a lot of running to catch up. He'll need someone who can teleport." Still tightening the laces, he looked back over his shoulder and frowned at her. 

Nova glared back at him. "Don't even think of saying it. Not even the Lady Charle can outdo Asalla when it comes to making jumps; so don't bother to ask me. I don't know why you're even bothering to try." Letting her legs dangle off the bed, she folded her arms and scowled.

"Because someone has to." Finished with the laces, he pulled a plain sleeveless shirt on overtop of it. Stepping back as the door slammed shut behind him, he crossed the room in three strides to the windowsill. And old wooden box sat there covered in dust; aside from a few fingerprints, it looked as though it hadn't been touched recently. Dusting it off, he fumbled with the catch on the latch. "If we don't hunt them down, who knows what will happen?"

"For the love of Soa Garren, listen to yourself!" Grabbing his wrist, she pulled it away from the box and met his eyes. "You're talking about hunting down your friend," she pleaded in a quieter tone, "is that what you really want to do?"

"No," he told her gently, easing his wrist from her grip "It'll never be something that I want to do. But at least with two of us, we may be able to get Ayrel and leave Asalla unharmed."

"And Mathis?" Nova regretted the words before they'd even left her mouth. Garren's eyes hardened and he looked away. Flicking open the box, he pulled out the glove and knuckles that were his weapon and jerked them roughly onto his right hand. 

"That traitorous bastard can rot for all I care." He growled, and jammed the box shut again.

For a long moment no one said anything, each pointedly avoiding the other's eyes. Then the warp pad situated in the corner of the room flickered briefly, the system's equivalent of a polite knock on the door. Stiffly, Garren picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Look, I've got to go."

"Garren-" Nova started, and then hesitated. What was there really that could be said? "-Just promise not to do anything you'll regret? Please?"

He stepped onto the pad, which hummed and started to glow in response to his weight. "I'll try." **

Nova blinked, surprised at the dampness around her eyes. Hastily swiping them with her sleeve, she got to her feet and shook the wrinkles out of her skirt. Getting sentimental now, of all times. That had been sixteen years ago and besides; it wasn't as though she loved him. At least, she didn't think that she did. Oh sure they were close; she'd even shared his bed with him on occasion, although she owed that more to alcohol than anything else. In the space of one thousand years, it was bound to happen occasionally. But love? She shook her head hard; already heading for the stone archway that led from the courtyard into the living quarters. This was pointless; hardly something that needed dwelling on. But of course, the moment she told herself to stop thinking about it, the thoughts just came flowing back.

The quarters were only marginally warmer than the air outside, but without the wind it felt more comfortable by degrees. Shrugging her shawl off of her shoulders Nova started for the warp pads situated neatly against the far wall, but she changed her mind at the last minute. There was nothing to do in her rooms that hadn't been done a hundred times already anyhow, and she was too restless for a nap. 

The entry hall in which she stood would perhaps have better named a common room; furnished with sandstone benches strewn with blue tasseled cushions and small, polished tables cluttered with worn books, scraps of used parchment, and a dozen other odds and ends. The stone walls had been painted a pale blue some years ago, but now the paint was cracked and stained and in need of repair. Aside from herself there were only two men, Mikel and Juan, sitting at a bench off to one side of the pads and playing a game of Gambit with stiff paper cards. She nodded as she passed, but the players were too engrossed in the game to do much more than wave her off with a careless hand. 

Choosing one of the arched passages leading down into the lower levels of the town, Nova tied her shawl around her waist as she walked. Most people were like that these days, now. Pointless activity occupied their waking hours, as they were desperate to keep their minds from what could be happening in the outside world. The residents of Ulara were used to waiting: it was something that they had become accustomed to. That didn't necessarily mean that they _liked_ it.

The corridor took her down far below the quarters and past the libraries. Bulbous blue glowstones set into the walls didn't light the path so much as they defined the shadows. For all the decoration the bare walls showed one could have thought that the passage had been long out of use, but the worn floor beneath her feet was free of the dust that normally collects over time. 

Coming around a bend, the hallway ended without warning and Nova found herself standing in the middle of a grove of oak trees, far below the lowest platforms of the city. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly as she looked around. The air here had more of a chill then in the courtyard she had just left, though under cover of the massively thick oak trees there was little movement in the air, if any at all. The clear, almost sharp scent of fresh running water was heavy on the air, covering even the rich scent of forest loam as she took a step out onto the thick bed of moss. The entire forest was carpeted in it; if anything grew it grew up from underneath it. The forest floor was a mass of uneven green swells where the moss had grown over rotting stumps and fallen logs. Here and there a stump poked through, but the rotting wood was more often than not covered by a tangle of brown vines that bore a host of tiny delicate yellow flowers. Angel's lace, she recalled. A pretty name. All around her the oaks rose up, more than seventy feet tall and thicker at the base than two winglies could get their arms around. High up through the canopy of gently waving leaves could be seen the occasional patch of cloudy grey sky, swelling threateningly as it prepared to rain. But there still was some time yet.

Nova's feet moved quickly now as they found the unmarked path. Her mother had shown it to her when she was little more than a babe; since then she'd frequented it more times than she could care to remember. The path in turn led to a brook, and this she followed upriver. The air was even cooler here, although it was the moisture in the air rather than the temperature itself that made it seem so. 

The waterfalls that bordered much of the western edge of Ulara could be heard at least faintly from most of the outdoor regions of the city. The sound of falling water had been growing steadily louder ever since she had entered the forest; now as she turned one last bend the sound built up into a roar.

Nadliz was far from the largest of the falls; dropping from a rock precipice thirty yards above, it was a narrow ribbon of white water that cascaded down through the canopy of oak leaves to splash noisily into the brook below. The mossy banks ran steeply into the water and here and there fallen trees crisscrossed one another in the shallows, forming natural benches. Climbing up onto one of the trunks, Nova took an uncertain step, feeling the rotting bark slide beneath the smooth soles of her shoes. Years ago there had been proper benches here, but over the eons they had worn away until they were little more than oddly-shaped chunks of stone sticking out from a tangle of oak roots. No one had bothered to replace them because really no one bothered coming down here any more. Though as she settled precariously on a gnarled tree limb that hung dangerously out over the water, a slight rustle of fabric behind her alerted her that she wasn't alone. 

Disappointed, Nova glanced back over her shoulder with a frown. Most people never bothered with this place; why did they have to choose now to start using it again? A reprimand on the tip of her tongue, it faded quickly when she caught sight of the other woman. 

Asalla's sudden departure had affected everyone in different ways. As might be expected, her mother, Yellen, had taken it the hardest. For a moment Nova stared, absently steadying herself with one hand. Nothing that dwelt in Ulara could truly age, at least in a physical sense, but Yellen's shoulders were slumped with the weight of the years and her face was creased from grief. Her long silver-blue hair, which had once been the pride of her self, hung in limp tangles around her elbows, a reflection of the careless state in which she wandered about these days. She had become something of a sympathy figure, and while several of her friends had made a project of caring for her, most had given up hope. It wasn't just that the woman was careless: she didn't _want_ to care anymore. 

Nova dropped her gaze to the water swirling beneath her branch. A small trout was swimming in the shadow of the trunk, its side flashing slightly whenever light happened to touch it. Yellen made her feel uncomfortable. She still felt that the woman might blame her somehow; she had been Asalla's friend after all, and mothers tended to jump to conclusions about things like that. It was an irrational suspicion, but still. Picking a twig from the branch, she tossed it into the water and watched as it spun lazily in a circle.

Then the rain started to fall. It wasn't much at first, but the drizzle changed quickly to a steady downpour that fell in sheets as the breeze picked up again. Thin tendrils of mist crept out over the dimpled surface of the brook, swirling slowly as the winds stirred them before settling again.

Jerked out of her thoughts by the chill of cold rainwater tricking down her spine, Nova got unsteadily to her feet and pulled her shawl from where she had bundled it around her waist. Balancing precariously on the slippery trunk, she pulled the thing over her head and shoulders for all the good that it would do. Casting a quick glance back over her shoulder at Yellen, she hesitated before unfurling her wings and drifting back to the bank. Well, if the woman wanted to stay out here in the downpour, that was her own choice. Brushing a strand of sopping hair out of her eyes, she started for the forest.

"He died here, you know."

Just short of the first trunk, Nova stopped short and turned around. Yellen hadn't moved from where she sat on the toppled trunk of a birch, but her voice carried over the whisper of the falling rain. Feeling a wave of anxiety rise and fall in her stomach, Nova answered.

"Pardon?"

"The Ancestor." The woman's voice was low and mournful, but there was a curious lilting quality to it. "When his Forest died, his soul couldn't survive without it. A short while after he came to Ulara, he just faded away."

"Why?" Nova asked carefully, moving along the bank so that she didn't have to strain so much to catch her words. 

"When you have nothing left to live for, why not?" She sighed, or at least her shoulders sagged. "It must be nice."

"Lady Charle wouldn't like to hear you talking like that."

"The Lady knows that I don't have the courage to do anything," she said morosely, "So she knows that she doesn't have to worry. Besides, if Asa.she were to come back, what would she do then, with her mother gone?" She turned to look at Nova at last, her rose eyes sad. "Sometimes I wish that I'd had the courage to go after her."

Nova shifted her weight uncomfortably, the wet fabric of her skirts clinging to her legs. "Why didn't you?"

"I was afraid," she said bitterly. "Afraid of the world, and afraid of what that Dragon would do if I tried to follow." She looked away. "It's not a nice feeling."

__

'I know,' Nova wanted to say, '_I'm afraid too. Of what might happen if Asalla comes between Ragnarok and Ayrel. Of what _I_ might have to do if I were there.' _But she kept those thoughts to herself. Instead she switched the topic. "What about now? It's not too late, I mean."

She regretted the words almost immediately, but Yellen didn't snap back like she had expected her to. 

The woman sighed again, and dipped her foot into the brook. Her feet, Nova noticed, were bare. "Even if I could find her, I would just be in the way. If there was someway -_anyway_- that I even thought could do something I would but-" here her voice broke, and she drew her knees up to her chest. "I just want my daughter back!"

~ ~ ~

Sometime later Nova lie on her bed, staring unseeing out the window. The sharp staccato of rain on the glass fell on deaf ears as she drifted about on the edge of sleep, lost in thought. 

__

"Sometimes I wish that I'd had the courage to go after her."

__

'She's not the only one,' Nova thought sourly to herself. The solution to things was simple in theory, but theory was just that. Actually finding the courage, the will, to make them work was another thing entirely. And then there were the emotions that tied people together. She knew very well why she could never face Asalla: even if the woman was willing to harm her, she could never bring herself to hurt a friend. It might be stupid, but that was just the way she felt. But if it ever came down to it.

__

"There's a difference between respecting your fears, and letting them rule your life."

Ragnarok had told her that once. The problem, Dart had told her later on, was knowing which was which. She almost laughed aloud, but halfway up her throat it became a groan and she rolled over onto her stomach. She finally understood the full implication of that statement, but it wasn't really a comforting thought. She could leave and help, and risk having to watch her friend die, or stay here in Ulara, waiting.

And leave Garren to make the choice alone. 

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed. What would he do? Certainly, he wouldn't _want_ to harm do to her, but if he thought that there was no other way? She knew him too well to say that he'd back down. But something like that would stay with him: an open wound in his conscience that would never heal or fade. 

Nova buried her head in her hands. There had to be an easier way. 'When you want everything, you get nothing,' her mother had always told her. But she didn't want either of her friends to have to suffer because of this. '_How is anyone supposed to choose?'_

__

'You don't have to.' 

The realization hit her like a thunderbolt. What if she went along, not to fight Asalla, but to prevent having to? She could never hope to match the younger woman in terms of sheer power, but she knew enough to be able to dampen another wingly's magic, even if it was only for a short while. If she could hold her off, cutting her off from her power without actually harming her, then Dart and Garren would have no need to deal with her. There were no guarantees, but it was still better than nothing.

Getting off of the bed, she headed to her dresser and began rummaging through the drawers, her mind working quickly now. There was no hope of knowing where Dart was at any given moment but if she were lucky Garren would still be in Rogue, training with the martial arts school there. And while she wasn't sure of the island's precise location, she knew someone who did. 

Pulling out a sturdy canvas pack out from underneath her bed, she started to shove clothing into it. Caron kept a close watch on the portals these days, but there were easier ways in and out of the city, or so she had been told. Tygris hated flying in the rain, and unlike Garren she had never really caught on to the rudiments of the draconic language, but she felt fairly certain that she could convince the bird-dragon to see her way.

Pulling the drawstring tight, she slung the bag over her shoulder and took one final look around her room. It looked the same as it always had: smooth, slightly curved walls, only interrupted by the oval window set into the eastern wall and the near-invisible lines of the closet. The cradle-like bed was mussed and unmade, and a few books had fallen from the dresser and onto the rug in her haste to pack. After almost a thousand years, it remained essentially unchanged. Safe. 

She looked around slowly for a few moments longer, then winked out of sight in a flash of green light. 

Outside the rain continued to rattle at the window frames. Beyond that, past the skin of magic that isolated Ulara from the rest of time, the sun continued to beat down on the red-gold sand and shimmering mirages of the wasteland.

There. For all of everyone complaining that Garren and Nova hadn't been poking around lately. They'll be back into the mainstream of the plot soon enough. Once they actually manage to find Dart again.

Garren: **cracks knuckles** That shouldn't take too long.

Shade: -.-;Garren, I know you. You couldn't find your way out of a wet paper bag. 

Garren: .you don't have to rub it in, you know. ;_;


	42. Prisons

Normal joking aside, I've something more serious to address.

It's come to my attention that someone has been taking Black Legacies, and posting it elsewhere without my permission. I'm not sure exactly how much was posted, or when, but whoever is doing this, I urge you to please stop if you haven't already. I think that I speak for all authors when I say that our stories are written for the enjoyment of the readers, not for those who would steal the credit. 

This said, I've decided to re-write the first several chapters. The grammar was generally bad, and this should give me a chance to correct and flesh it out a bit. I've been meaning to do this for a while, but truth be told I cringe every time that I have to look back at it. -.-; I'll try not to let this affect the normal updates (well, no more than life usually interrupts them), but I'm hoping that they won't take so long to fix, since they're already written. Except the first chapter or two. I hate them.

This chapter's a long one. I suppose that I could have broken it down into two chapters, but I decided against it. Hold on, and be prepared for frequent changes of POV. You have been warned. :D

**Zion's POV:**

I sat morosely with my back against the hard stone wall, watching Kaelin's unmoving form at my feet. We were in a cell of some sort; we could see out the same as anyone could see in, but a few inches of solid iron grillwork insured that while the guards patrolling the corridors could come and go as they pleased, we were here for the long haul. The floor had been strewn with musty straw that itched unpleasantly when you sat on it, but did something to leach some of the chill out of the stone floor. Two more cells flanked ours on either side; all of them unoccupied save for the one farthest to our left. There a ratty looking man dozed fitfully atop a pile of straw, whimpering slightly and clutching at handfuls of the stuff as he dreamed unpleasant dreams. A lone oil lamp burned steadily in its sconce on the wall, giving off a steady even light that seemed at odds with the depressing atmosphere. At the far end of the room on a stool near the door, a man in temple livery kept watch, his spear leaning casually against his shoulder.

I started to raise my hands to touch my throbbing forehead, then thought the better of it. Heavy iron manacles pinned my wrists together, and the skin was raw and sore where the metal bit into it. I'd been awake for a quarter-hour or so, but Kaelin hadn't so much as stirred yet. Whatever trick her brother had pulled on us, it appeared that she had had the worst of it.

What worried me even more though, was the absence of my dragoon spirit. It only made sense that they'd take it, but the thought sent qualms fluttering through my stomach until I thought that I might be sick. Ry had made it very clear that above all else the temples must not get their hands on the spirits, and yet here we were. I leaned my head back, pressing my cheek against the iron bars beside me. Why was it that whenever I seemed to be getting somewhere in life, something like this had to happen?

At my feet, Kaelin moaned slightly and began to stir. Manacles clinked lightly against the floor as she pushed herself into a sitting position, blinking groggily. "Wha… what-?"She shook her head and a few pieces of straw fell to the floor. "Where are we?"

"Look around. Give you three guesses. And two don't count."

She blinked, then buried her face in her hands. "Arrgh, that bastard! I should've known better than to trust him!"

"I thought that you said you didn't trust him?"

"You know what I mean." She rubbed her cheek sourly, then stared at the manacles as though seeing them for the first time. "Well, it certainly looks like they aren't going to take any chances with us."

I leaned forward, wincing as my spine scraped against the rough stone. "They got my spirit. Yours too?"

Automatically, Kaelin's hands flew to the front of her shirt. She hissed, then let them fall. "Gone." 

While she glared at the wall, muttering curses under her breath, I peered through the grille at the other prisoner several cells away. Great. The temples now had possession of both our spirits, and I was locked in a cell with a woman who looked ready to spit nails. Desperately I ranged through my thoughts, looking for something to say that might calm her down.

I was saved of that agony by the arrival of raised voices drifting down the hall. The guard at the door scrambled hurriedly off of his stool, banging the butt of his spear against the floor sharply and coming to attention as two men entered the room, arguing loudly. The first I didn't recognize, but the second, with his dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck and flowing, immaculate blue robes, was unmistakably Lyke. A third trailed them at a respectful distance, lamplight catching on the curves and contours of his black armor as he walked. 

Soltrane glanced in my direction as he entered and nodded briefly in recognition before taking his place at the door. At least, he may have nodded. Beyond the occasional reflection of light in his eyes within the depths of the helm, his face was completely hidden by the strip of cloth covering his nose and mouth. The helm didn't look light; the nod may have just been an attempt to adjust the elaborate thing. In any case, I felt my tongue turn to ash.

Her temper forgotten for the moment, Kaelin edged back until she was sitting next to me against the wall. Neither Lyke nor the other man, who was dressed in a priest's green robes, seemed to pay us any mind. They were arguing, and for the first time I saw Lyke's cool façade cracked. The ever-present smile had vanished from his features; now his lips were twisted into a snarl, and his eyes sparked as he spoke.

"I kept my half of the bargain! If you can't see clear-"

"Ah, Lord Alphine," The other man said, "you promised us two_-"_

"Use your eyes, man!"

"Two _men_," he finished, putting emphasis on the second syllable. "I only see the one. Until you produce the second man, we have no obligation to carry out the rest of the bargain. When you do produce him, I'll be more than happy to complete the deal." 

Next to me, Kaelin smiled thinly. "_That_ will drive him nuts," She whispered, not taking her eyes off of her brother. "He always hates it when things don't go his way."

"What are they giving him?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.

To my surprise, Kaelin had one. "Preferred trading status with the Serdian temples. It's potentially worth millions." When I gave her a look, she explained, "He told me just before I went under. Wanted to justify betraying us, I suspect." Her shoulders sagged, but her jaw flexed as she ground her teeth with frustration. 

I examined the priest. He was a large man, taller than Lyke, with a square face and fair hair that was combed over a balding patch on the cap of his skull. His frame seemed too large for the robe he wore, and the thin fabric was stretched almost painfully across his shoulders. He looked like the person that would be more at home leaning on a battle-axe rather than a lectern. As he started to speak to Lyke again, explaining something, I leaned over to Kaelin. "So why won't they give it to him?"

"I expect that it was Ry they wanted, not me." She frowned. "At least, I don't think I've done anything to offend them lately…what's so funny?" She asked suspiciously.

I bit my lip to keep myself from grinning. "They need him? But he left this morning to go into the city."

"I know that," she hissed. "You think it's funny? Lyke'll just send some of his strong-arms after him and drag him in! Then where'll we be?"

"Right here, watching your brother chew his nails to the quick over his precious treaty. They won't get him, trust me." Kaelin opened her mouth, but I shook my head and she shut it with an audible 'click'. "He can take care of himself. Besides, if he's still outside then he can work something out, right?"

Kaelin looked skeptical, but thankfully held her tongue. Raking her hair back from her face, she let her breath out in a huff. At the other end of the chamber, Lyke glanced over at us briefly, then changed his manner of approach. 

"What about those gemstones that they where carrying? Those weren't a part of the deal."

"I hardly think they hold any importance in the issue, Lord Alphine," the man said dryly. "The matter at hand is, after all, the prisoners."

"Exactly." Lyke's voice was offhand. That slight, knowing smile was back on his features once more, now that he had himself back under control. "And since they had no part in the deal, I see no reason why you should continue to keep them in your possession. I will have-"

The shadow in the corner shifted. A quick step and Soltrane was at the merchant's shoulder, gauntletted fingers digging deep into the hollow below his collarbone. Lyke wasn't exactly a short man; if the dread knight were not in his armor Lyke may well have been the taller of the two; yet under that grip his face paled and he seemed to shrink inward, trying to escape the pressure. 

"I think, Lord Alphine, that you've done enough here for the moment." The other man's voice was cold. "If you would kindly see your self out? Or would you rather have the Captain provide you with an escort?"

Soltrane released his grip on Lyke's shoulder and the man pulled away hurriedly. For a moment he locked eyes with the priest, then looked away, nodding curtly as he did so. "I will check back later, Caleb. Please do give my regards to the High Priest, should you see him." He turned on heel, leaving the dungeon with a quick step.

Caleb watched him leave, then dismissed the guard to stand outside in the hallway. With Soltrane following in his shadow like a hound, he came to the front of our cell and peered in through the grill, saying nothing.

Kaelin stirred. "What're you looking at?"

"What indeed." Dipping into the folds of his robes, he withdrew a ring of jingling brass keys that glinted in the lamplight. He handed them to Soltrane with a few muttered words, then turned. "I have matters to deal with above. Captain, I trust that you can take care of affairs here?" 

He left quietly, most likely hoping to ketch Lyke lingering in one of the hallways above. Soltrane watched him leave, then slipped the key ring into a niche in the neck of his armor. A stool stood against the far wall; he pulled it up close to the grill and sat, eyes flickering within the shadows of the helm. 

The silence stretched. Eventually, I cleared my throat. "Was there a point to this, or did you just intend on sitting there for the rest of the day?" I ventured, pulling a piece of straw out from where it had stuck in my shirt.

Kaelin shifted, her manacles rattling against the grill as she pulled them free. "You really a dread knight? I'd expected something a bit more spectacular then a dog barking at a priest's orders."

"It must seem that way, doesn't it?" he observed. "And were it not that I had already met Damnen, I might have expected someone more than a petty thief as a spirit bearer."

"Touché." Kaelin stretched, her shoulders creaking as she pulled her arms behind her head. "So, you just going to sit there?"

He stirred, and the deep blue cloak hanging from his shoulders rustled. "The temples have grown most curious about the…" he paused, "…source from which you've been obtaining those spirits. I'm supposed to question you as to how and where you found them but I suspect that I won't get an answer out of either of you, am I correct?" When his question was greeted with silence, he chuckled. "I thought so. Then would you permit me to inquire as to why you came to Bale? I thought that you would be trying to cross over the boarder near Hoax, until we caught wind of otherwise."

"I thought you were in Seles," I said, as mildly as I could. It wasn't an easy thing; memories of Kazas still lingered, and the confusion that came with it. It was just like before; he was oddly civil about the whole thing, given the situation. Why was it then that he wasn't leaping at the chance to strike me down like everyone else?

"I was, until some of our scouts were found to the south of Belhalla." He cocked his head slightly to the side. "Dead, but for one. He spoke of a dark man with a sword on horseback. You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that as well, would you?"

Belhalla? He must have meant the village where we'd met Kaelin. "Not me." 

Soltrane nodded, seeming to accept this, but a second memory had wormed its way into my thoughts. _Ry approached slowly on his tired mount, swaying in the saddle as the animal came to a halt. Two more horses were in tow; their reins caught up in his fist. With some difficulty he dismounted, staggering slightly as his feet touched the ground. _

"Hey, are you alright?"

He dropped the horses' reins to the ground, letting them wander. "I'll be fine. Had a run-in with a few men from that patrol that passed us earlier." He turned slightly, and the flickering light from the campfire fell across him. His shirt was torn and stained with blood; more was seeping out over his pants. 

"Jeez, Ry!" I rifled through my pack as he slumped to the ground, and finding a flask of healing potion, worked the cork out with my teeth. "Don't numbers mean anything to you?"

"I can count, if that's what you mean."

"They could have killed you!" 

"I doubt that," he said, pulling his sword awkwardly from its sheath and laying it on the ground beside him. The naked blade was smeared with blood; the crystalline runes running down the length winked in the firelight from amidst the dark mess. "I always give better than I get." 

I blinked, then rubbed my eyes with my fists tiredly. I thought that I was beginning to get an idea of why the temples seemed so eager to get their hands on Ry. And how he'd managed to survive for so long. 

**Ragnarok's POV:**

Dart stepped off of the plank, his boots thudding hollowly on the wet wooden dock. /It's a little shaky, but it'll have to do/ He admitted, stepping around a deckhand who was busily coiling ropes. /And we're still counted lucky at that/

//You could have convinced him to leave port sooner. Sunrise is a bit too far off for my tastes// 

/It's better than the alternative/

We were walking along the waterfront, weaving through the stacks of crates and barrels that crowded the docks and much of the street. The merchant ships were beginning to arrive, hopeful to catch the first of the early harvest coming from the kingdom's interior. Buying and selling was the name of the day, but even so it had been difficult to buy passage to Fueno. The majority of the ships were headed to Mille Seaseu, where the short growing season left a high demand for imported crops. By a stroke of luck and a search that had lasted the better part of the day we had come across the _Florin_, a schooner headed for the islands with a cargo of corn and wheat that would be loaded later this evening. Passage wasn't going to be cheap, but Kaelin, true to her word, had scrounged up more than enough money to pay for it by selling the Guardsmen's' crests.

Clouds still hung threateningly overhead, but for the moment at least the rain had stopped and the cobbled streets of the city were crowded, even once we had moved away from the waterfront. Wagons rattled by through puddles, laden with produce, but for the most part the crowd milled about the street vendors. Wooden trays hung across their chests by heavy straps passed across their shoulders, and they called out in loud voices as they competed with one another for the attention of the crowd. Selling everything from knives to ribbon the merchants varied in nationality, but were brought together in a sort of odd unity by the call of gold. The babble of voices filled the air and the crowded, close street had an almost festive air. 

/We should be heading back. It'll be getting near supper soon/

//Good// I paused, looking around through both Dart's eyes and my own sort of second sight. //We'll slip out again later tonight and board the ship a few hours before sunrise//

/You sure the captain won't mind?/

//I don't care if the captain minds// I snorted. The captain of the _Florin _wasn't of the endearing sort; tall and lean, he looked more like the sort who would be more at home trapping small animals than captaining a ship. The crewmen had seemed to respect him though, so I supposed that that accounted for something. 

As Dart shouldered his way through the crowd, someone caught his good arm. Half turning to see whom it was, he found himself faced with a florid man with a hooked nose and small, bright eyes peering out at him from beneath a mop of sandy hair. 

"Ribbons for the missus, sir? How's about some sweetmeats? Finest quality, brought 'em in from Hoax jus' yesterday!" He smiled broadly at us, or rather, Dart. I noticed with some abstraction that he had food caught in his teeth.

"Er, no thanks." Dart started to pull back, but was forced forward by the press of the crowd as a cart rattled by.

"Some needles, then! Straight as an arrow and sharp enough to pierce bull hide. You won't find better needles anywhere else, I guarantee you!" Still tugging on our arm, he pulled us back out of the flow of the crowd.

"Look, I don't need it!" Dart snapped. I could feel his temper flare for a moment; a spot of heat in his otherwise laid-back mind. He jerked his arm from the man's grasp, but too late. There was a hazy flicker of moment behind him, the vague impression of a man separating himself from the crowd, fists raised.

//Behind you! Move!//

He reacted automatically, ducking and sidestepping clear in one quick movement. The assailant's first punch went wild; he lurched, then kicked out viciously sideways. The strike connected with Dart's stomach, sending him stumbling back against the wall gasping for breath. 

//Get him!//

/Not here/ Dart panted. 

In the street the people nearest to us had started to notice the commotion and were starting to panic. As the first cry rose, Dart groped at the calf of his boot for his knife.

The other man moved forward now, urged on by the howls of the merchant behind him. He was heavyset, with graying hair and a tanned weather-beaten face. His knuckles were scarred, and at some point recently he'd gotten rope burn across one meaty forearm. A sailor, then. 

As he jerked his arm back for another hit, Dart's fingers closed around the hilt of his knife. Springing out of his crouch he slashed out wildly, opening a gash across the sailor's face that ran from his eyebrow to his opposite cheekbone. As the man fell back clutching at his ruined face, Dart dove into the panicking crowd at a run, roughly shoving his way through.

/What the hell was that all about?/ Dodging around the back wheel of a buggy, he broke free from the crowd and bolted away across the cobbles. 

//How should I know?// I replied mildly. I scanned the crowd behind us, getting only a vague impression of the scene before Dart ducked around the street corner. //Better keep moving. I think our bullyboy just picked up a couple of friends//

/Brilliant/

A few minutes and several streets later Dart came to a stop in an alleyway, sucking air greedily into his lungs as he leaned up against the wall. /I don't think they're following/

//I hope not. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this//

/Only now? What do you think that was about?/ He asked, wiping his knife on the hem of his shirt before sliding it back into his boots. /Last I heard Bale was a fairly good city as far as crime goes. The guardsmen do a good job with their patrols/

//That's what's worrying me// I replied grimly. //Hurry up and catch your breath. I think we need to get back to the others//

~ ~ ~

From the street the Alphine residence is a more impressive sight than the view from the courtyards. Like almost every other home in that particular district it was constructed from red brick and sandstone and three or four stories high with flat iron grilles over the lower windows. The sills of the windows were made from soft sandstone; intricate friezes of flowers and birds twined the length of them. The arched doorway was fronted by a sort of flag stone terrace and protected by an awning. Square sandstone pillars that had been fashioned in such a way that they matched the friezes on the sills supported this in turn. Two liveried guards stood stoically at the base of the steps leading up to the door, starring into the middle distance from beneath their polished steel helms. 

Dart frowned. /Those weren't here this morning/ He recalled, slipping back around the corner. Worrying at the knot in the sling with his good hand, he flexed the fingers of the other experimentally. Pain stabbed through his shoulder, but not as severely as it had before. It was healing, but slowly. /We're definitely headed for Fueno next/ He grumbled. /The best healers in the world flock to those hotsprings; there must be someone there who can speed this along/

//I hope so// I turned my attention back to the house //How do you plan on getting in there? Just walking up to the door? I'm starting to get the impression that we might not be wanted guests anymore//

/Let's slip into the stable. The hands there are usually too busy to notice anything going on anyhow/

Getting into the stables wasn't too difficult a matter. The alleyways that framed the house would bring someone directly into the courtyard, provided they didn't mind scaling the cast-iron fence that contained it. The path to the stables themselves was unblocked, so it was an easy matter to slip through the dusky interior without the stable hands noticing. Inside the courtyard was wrapped in early evening shadow, a few lamps burning at either end providing minimal light. The clouds overhead were beginning to disperse and patches of deepening sky were beginning to peek through, a few early stars twinkling shyly. 

Crossing the courtyard, Dart hesitated with his hand on the door latch. After a moment's pause he plucked the knife from the calf of his boot and slipped it up his sleeve before pressing down on the latch with his thumb. It made a loud jarring noise, then swung open quietly. Glancing back over his shoulder again, Dart slipped through the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Inside the hall was empty. Braziers shimmered on their hooks and fat triplets of white candles burned in their holders lining the walls, but no servants were to be seen. A watchful silence had settled in the place of the normal bustle, conveying a warning louder than words. With a sigh, Dart took his hand off of the latch and started for the stairs at a jog. 

Upstairs was little better. Aside from two maids airing out the dining room, the house was deserted. Careful not to let them see him, Dart slipped past the doorway and padded down the hall toward the apartments, his boots making no sound on the soft carpets. 

The door to the apartments was ajar, but it only took a moment's work to discover that it was empty. Standing in the center of the sitting room, Dart's breath escaped between his clenched teeth with a hiss. Kaelin and Zion were obviously gone, but the room was exactly as we had left it this morning. No signs of a struggle. "If this wasn't so weird, I might actually be comforted," He muttered aloud. "You'd almost think that they'd just gone out."

//I doubt that, somehow//

/I _did_ say 'almost'/

The bedrooms were undisturbed. Easing open the door to his own room, Dart scanned it quickly, then started to struggle out of the dust jacket that Kaelin had picked up for him. Dropping it in a heap on the floor, he retrieved the rest of his clothes from where they lay bundled up around his sword in the corner of the room. Setting them on the bed, he carefully began to peel them away in layers until the cloth fell away. Underneath, the spirits glinted in the candlelight; purple, gold, and onyx. He started to reach out to touch them, then stopped. /Ark?/

//A moment// I focused briefly, sending thin tendrils of magic out carefully through Dart's suddenly relaxed mind. Earlier that week I'd set a ward on the belt and the spirits, ensuring that no one would touch them in our absence. If they had, the culprit would receive a mind jolt that would leave him unconscious for several hours. I would have made the blow fatal, had not Dart pointed out that Kaelin, in her curiosity, might be even more prone to try and pilfer them than one of her brother's servants. 

There was an almost imperceptible shift in the air, and the barrier surrounding the spirits broke. //There. It should be safe//

Dart grabbed the belt and wrapped it tightly around his waist, snapping the buckle shut with some difficulty. He started to reach for the sword belt, but stopped with his hand hovering over the leather sheath. /Ark?/

//Hmm?//

/You hear something?/

****

Kaelin's POV:

The lamp on the wall across from the cell guttered briefly as the wick burned down to the last of the oil. The guard by the door shifted slightly on his stool, guiding a whetstone along the blade of his spear. The sound of the stone grinding against steel echoed chillingly throughout the dungeon, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and setting my teeth on edge. 

Zion stirred in the corner, the chains binding his wrists together clinking against one another with the movement. "What time do you think it is?"

"How can I tell?" I gestured at the windowless stone walls. "Your guess is as good as mine down here."

"How much longer do you think they'll keep us here?"

"Longer than is convenient for us, that's for sure." I glanced at the guard again, then settled down on the floor, crossing my legs. Biting my lip, I began to pluck at the sole of my boot.

Zion lifted his head up out of his arms to watch me with passing interest. "What're you doing?"

"Hush," I told him distractedly. My fingers touched steel; after a bit of prying I managed to get a grip on the blunt end of the knife and started to tug it out. 

Zion kept his mouth shut as I worked the blade the rest of the way out. It dropped to the straw and I plucked it up again carefully between two fingers. Checking for the guard again, I shuffled on my knees over to where Zion sat. "Hold out your hands," I instructed in a whisper, then stuck the tip of the knife into the lock. I'd spent some time studying my own; they were nothing fancy, but well oiled and of simple design. After a few seconds of tinkering the blade caught. I gave it a sharp twist and the lock sprung open with a clack. 

Easing the manacles from his wrists, Zion set them carefully in his lap while I stuck the butt of the blade between my teeth. It was an awkward way to pick a lock but, once you caught the trick of it, it was almost as quick as using your hands. As the manacles fell away I spat the blade out. "Wouldn't Daddy be proud of me now," I muttered as I massaged my wrists, trying to get the blood flowing again. 

"What?"

"Never mind." I glanced back at the guard, but the steady rasp of the whetstone never slowed once. "Look, I think we can make it out of here, but we're going to have to be quick about it. If anyone recognizes us we won't have a chance once they alert the barracks. The place'll be crawling with dread knights and guardsmen before you can blink an eye." 

Zion rubbed his head, just missing the piece of straw that had snarled itself in his hair. "Out. Right." Getting slowly to his feet, he set the binders carefully on the straw and walked to the door of the cell. Leaning against the grille, he peered down the walk curiously. "Him first though, right?" He raised his voice. "Oi! There wouldn't be a chance of us getting a bite to eat, would there?"

I lunged forward, catching him by the ankle and giving him a jerk. "What do you think you're doing?" I hissed angrily.

Zion ignored me, except to kick me off his ankle. "Hey! You listening?"

The rasp of stone on steel stopped. "You'll get your food when someone brings it, idiot. Now shut up."

"But I'm hungry!"

I gave up and scuttled back farther into the cell. "You sound like a kid," I muttered. Surprised, he shot me a grin over his shoulder before continuing.

"You sure you couldn't give us even a bit of food? You look well fed. Or overfed. One or the other."

The guard got up off his stool, face dark. "I told you to shut up! Do you want me to have food cut off for you entirely?" He stopped in front of the cell, the spear butt tapping agitatedly on the floor.

"You wouldn't really do that, would you?" Zion hung his head. "You're gonna execute us anyway, right? So the least you could do is give us a half-decent meal first."

The guard jabbed the spear lightly through the bars. "Who said we're gonna execu-" He stopped, suddenly noticing Zion's free wrists. "_Hey_!"

Seizing the haft of the spear, Zion gave it a powerful jerk. As the guard stumbled forward his other hand shot out through the grill, grabbing hold of the man's collar and smashing him into the bars once, twice. 

Zion looked critically at the limp man dangling from his fist then let him slide to the floor with a satisfied nod. "That should keep him down for a bit. Can you pick the lock from inside?"

"Can fish swim?" I picked up the blade and shouldered him to the side. Sticking my arm through the bars, I inserted the tip into the lock hole. A sharp jab, a twist, and it caught. A heave to the left, and the bolt dropped out of place with a hollow clang that echoed endlessly off of the stone walls. Biting my tongue, I eased the door open a few inches. To my relief it made considerably less noise than the lock had. I swung it open the rest of the way, pushing the guard out of the way with my foot as I did so. "Will you do something about him? The last thing we need is for him to wake up and start making a ruckus."

Zion grunted and bent down to drag the man into the cell by his ankles. While I retrieved the spear he found the manacles again and looped them around one another before binding the man's wrists to his ankles. Ripping a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt he wadded it up and stuffed it into the other man's mouth then tied a second strip over it to hold it in place. Satisfied, he pulled him to the back of the cell and left him there, shutting the door behind him. The bolt dropped into place again, and both of us jumped at the sound.

Shaking my head, I hefted the spear to test its weight. "Let's get out of here. This place is death on my nerves."

The corridor outside was empty. It stretched off in either direction with lamps placed every twenty feet or so, so that the corridor itself seemed to move in and out of shadow. Aside from the occasional pop or sizzle from one of the lamps it was silent. Muted sounds of activity drifted down through the ceiling from above, but no one appeared in the arc of light at the end of the tunnel. I breathed a sigh of relief. No one had heard the din that the lock bolt had made.

Next to me Zion shifted uneasily in the shadows. "Where to now?" He whispered.

"The closest exit, I assume." I squinted down the corridor. Had something just moved, or was my imagination just playing tricks again? 

He hissed "What about the spirits?" 

I looked over at him, not missing the sudden frown that creased his face. "What about them?"

"We're not leaving without them."

"But they could be anywhere!"

"Do you want the temples to keep them?"

I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut again agitatedly. He had a point, though I hated to admit it. I stamped one foot impatiently. "Fine. We'll grab the stones. But we have to hurry."

Without answering Zion started down the corridor ahead of me, moving silently in spite of his size. Gritting my teeth I followed, making a mental note to find a stick later on and try to beat some sense through his thick skull. Just when you started to think that there was more than fluff between his ears he _always_ had to prove you wrong.

We slowed as we reached the end of the tunnel, pressing ourselves as deeply into the shadows as we could manage. I hadn't been imagining things when I'd seen something move at the end of the passage. Two oil lamps burned brightly on twisted iron stands, filling the chamber with a light that glared painfully on my eyes after the darkness of the pass. Three guardsmen were framed against the light, one sitting, one standing, and the third pacing back and forth agitatedly across the room. They were speaking; as I listened I dropped to one knee, working my second blade out from the sole of my boot with my fingertips.

"Look, I still say that Frons would have won."

"In a pig's eye he would have." The man sitting on the floor toyed with a coin. "I had good money riding on Derrick. Now I'll be blasted if I'll ever see that again."

The man pacing made a disgusted sound. "What're you still going on about that for? You lost the gold; that's your own fault. The fight was broken up, everyone lost cash, and that's all there is to it. Now shut up. We're supposed to be keeping watch, not jawing off and complaining."

"Stuff yourself. What else is there to do? The three of us don't all have to be down here an' you know it." The man standing against the wall leaned back, his spear rapping the flagstones. "That Knight's just being paranoid."

"He might be paranoid, but he's been in service almost as long as the Commander Mychael." The sitting man grimaced. "You don't live long in a job like that without paranoia to save your sorry ass."

Behind me Zion eased the spear from my grip while I weighed our options. Could we take them? Three on two weren't the worst odds that could have been handed to us, but they weren't the best either. What about the other end of the passage? I bit my lip and reached for my second knife blade. 

"Speak for yourself. Weren't you trying for acceptance as a Dread Knight a few months ago?"

"Notice I changed my mind."

Readying the knives for the throw, I tensed myself. When the pacing man turned at the far wall he would be facing me dead on for a moment. My blades weren't near long enough to reach his vitals, but if I could slow him down… I brought my arm back and squinted, judging the distance between the target and myself. 

"Hey, did you just hear something?"

"What?"

"Dunno. Sounded sort of like-"

There was a rushing sound, as though the air around me had been sucked into a vacuum. For a fraction of a second the passage was deathly silent; even my own heartbeat was dead in my ears. And then the earth began to shiver and tremble and the silence was shattered into oblivion as massive, indescribable noise slammed into us, eclipsing the senses and sending us to the floor in a mewling, whimpering heap. 

Seconds stretched into hours as I curled my knees to my chest on the heaving floor, oblivious to all else but the thunderous noise filling my ears. After a seeming eternity it died away into a distant rumble, but the flagstones continued to tremble beneath me as smaller explosions punctuated the air in a constant staccato; then this too died away and silence fell again, heavy and leaden.

On the stones next to me Zion stirred, pushing himself to his hands and knees so that he could look around unsteadily. Blood streamed down over his upper lip; he must have come down on his hard when he fell. Shaking his head gingerly, he looked at me inquiringly, and his lips moved in a question. 

"Nnngh?" Not the most intelligent of replies, but it was the most I could manage at the moment. I uncurled gingerly, wincing as a spur of pain shot through my side. My limbs trembled convulsively, and my spine felt as though it was trying to crawl out through my skin. Touching my ribs gingerly, I composed my thoughts and tried the question again. "Wha'th 'u sayth?"

"Are you alright?" I could hear a little, but it sounded as though it was coming from a far off. Zion looked concerned, but made no move to help as I struggled to my feet. I stuck a finger in my ear and wriggled it, trying to clear it. "Yeah, I think so." Shaking my head, I looked around while I waited for my hearing to return. 

The guardsmen were gone. The oil lamps had tipped over and smashed during the tremors and now puddles of fire burned on the floor where the oil had spilt. Here and there pieces of brick had fallen from the top of the tunnel, and they lay scattered across the chipped flagstones. Still wondering what the heck had happened, I glanced back over my shoulder. The lamps nearest to us continued to burn brightly, but the end of the tunnel gaped like a great black maw, dark and empty. 

Zion followed my gaze. "I think it caved in. See? If you look hard you can see the building stones."

He was right. Rubbing my ear again, I frowned when my hearing didn't improve. "What happened, do you think?"

He shrugged. "Like hell should I know." 

Were the sounds of panic getting louder, or was my hearing coming back? Grinding my teeth I slipped my knives back into my sleeves and retrieved the spear from where it had fallen. "Take this." Passing him the spear, I started forward again. Whatever had happened, we'd neither find out nor get out by just standing around and waiting. 

****

Dart's POV:

With my ears still ringing I dropped to the stones of the courtyard, keeping in the shadows as I crouched next to the wall. Smoke and unsettled dust choked the air; somewhere off to my right a fire was burning. I started out of the crouch, but a few feet down the wall I sank back again as footsteps pelted the stones off to the right. Hazy forms rushed by through the smoke, yelling orders to one another as they ran. 

Once they had passed I half-rose, straining to see if they were the last. When no one else came I hurried along the remainder of the wall, stooping over as I ran. Covering my nose and mouth with one grimy hand, I slowed to a halt as the corner of the temple came into sight. Oil lamps stuttered in their glass cases, and the light they gave off was feeble at best, but they were still sufficient to mark the stairway leading up to the heavy, graven doors. Normally the guardsmen would be keeping their vigil from the hidden niches in the wall next to the doors, but in the chaos following the explosion, it seemed that they had left their posts. Sidling along the wall and climbing the stairs I slipped inside, away from the smoke. 

Inside my head Ark was agitated. //Why did you aim for the courtyard? The barracks were right there!//

/The barracks are- were filled with sleeping men. The courtyard was empty/

//Exactly my point!//

I shook my head and continued without answering. How could I expect him to understand? Killing was something natural to him; he wasn't sick of it as was I. Besides, firing on the courtyard had caused more confusion; running around in the dark was a tricky thing when the ground had been turned into a rough crater. Easing the heavy doors shut behind me, I took a quick look around the vacant entry hall before dodging into an anteroom. 

Inside the room was small and cramped, the available floor-space taken up for the most part by rickety chairs and scratched tables. A few threadbare rugs were rolled up and stacked neatly into the corner; a thin coat of dust lay over everything present. What little light illuminated the room came from a heavy lamp set high up into the wall, positioned so that the thick glass case must've protruded out into the room next door. If that were the case, then that room would probably have been occupied, at least until recently. Leaning against the door, I pressed my ear against it, listening.

Finding out where to look for Zion and Kaelin had been no great chore. Once his guards had been beaten down and he cornered in his rooms Lyke had become somewhat agreeable, if grudgingly. And while he wouldn't say exactly where his sister had been taken, it hadn't been difficult to glean the location from what he _had_ said. The temples, in any case, should have been my first guess. After some firm words, and one or two blunt threats I'd left, shutting the door firmly behind me. He might have gotten up to send for help, but I wasn't overly concerned about that. A broken shin usually will keep someone low for quite a while. 

Well, with a bit of improvisation we'd made it inside. For the rest of it I was going to have to rely on the spirits. 

I took my ear away from the door. No footsteps could be heard outside, but once the shock of the explosion wore off then at least some of the guards would be returning to their posts. I took a deep breath, and immediately wished that I hadn't. Muffling a dusty sneeze in my fist, I wiped my mouth and crouched down. /You sure this will work?/

//It worked before, didn't it? A building is a bit more complicated than a street that's all. Just try to maintain the link for as long as possible, and it should lead us right to the spirits//

/I hope so/ I closed my eyes and after one or two false starts, sent my mind out into the surrounding darkness. For a moment my mind drifted, disembodied and alone. Then, as had happened before in Kazas, I touched on a spot of heat that ran off into the darkness like a winding trail. Automatically I followed, doing my best to memorize the images of broad hallways and twisting stairways that flitted past. Gradually directions began to emerge; in the eastern quarter, fifth floor, in the apartments…

If I had been able, I might have frowned. Apartments? The thought had hardly crossed my mind when two spots of color intruded in the darkness, flaring brightly. So the red-eye and the blue-sea were nearby one another, at least. 

No sooner than the spirits had appeared than the void vanished, dumping me back into my own head, leaving only a lingering pull from the spirits to remind me of where I'd just been. 

//There!// Ark barked //Don't lose that! Do you think you can follow it?//

Shaking my head, I blinked at the dusty floor. "Huh?" /Oh yeah, right. I think so/ Getting back to my feet, I listened at the door for a moment before easing it open. The hall was empty, for the moment at least. Grabbing hold of the lingering trail like a lifeline, I slipped out into the hallway, my boots scuffing slightly on the smooth floor.

The temple had been built primarily to house large gatherings of people and as a result the construction was very wide and open. Even avoiding the main gallery that would on a normal day be in use and open to the public, I found myself pacing nervously down wide hallways, ducking into enclaves whenever I thought I might have heard someone coming. Wherever I went the walls had been built with sandstone; long, marching mosaics that ran the length of entire hallways had been carved into the soft stone. Lamps hung on chains from the high ceiling and the floors had been tiled in varying shades of blue and jade, making a serpentine pattern the wound back and forth under my feet as I ran. It gave a strong impression of wealth, without the garishness that Lyke employed. Idly, I wondered exactly how much Ayrel inadvertently made off of the general populace. 

What activity there was on the ground floor seemed to be coming predominantly from the west wings of the temple, which suited me fine. The trail ran off in the other direction, losing itself in the maze of sparsely populated corridors and rooms and stairwells. Up through the second, third, and onto the forth level, making my way cautiously along the corridor. Once or twice I ran across a few maids, but their backs were to me as they struggled to haul an uncooperative laundry cart through a narrow doorway. 

The hallway ended and I climbed a spiraling staircase cautiously, ears straining to pick up the sound of footsteps as I padded up the polished wooden stairs. /Jeez, this is playing death on my nerves/ I grumbled, one hand resting lightly on the carved banister.

//All the more reason to finish up and get out// Ark replied. //Where now?//

/To the left-/ I cut off as the sound of scuffling feet echoed up from the corridor below. Without bothering to look over my shoulder I lunged forward, taking the last few yards of the stair in giant strides before turning sharply at the top and haring off down the carpeted hallway at a full-out run. Before I'd gone too far I slowed again, one hand on the hilt of my sword while I peered cautiously back the way I'd just came.

/What do you think that was?/

//I don't know. You bolted like a scared rabbit before I could get a decent look// he said dryly. //You really are on edge, aren't you?//

/I hate having to sneak around in a place like this/ I started walking again. The trail was growing faint, and I hurried my walk to keep up.

//Funny. We have to do it often enough//

/That still doesn't mean that I enjoy it/ I paused at one door, a large piece of mahogany work with a polished brass doorknob. Here the trail died. Did that mean it was the end, or had it simply worn off?

The door pushed open smoothly on oiled hinges and I slipped inside, closing it again quietly behind me. Inside the room was brightly lit by oil lams and clean wax candles set on mirrored stands. The room was plain; a simple desk occupied the far wall of the room, scattered with scraps of parchment and quills. A padded stool was pulled up to it, with an old map drooping over the seat. A long backed bench was pulled up to an empty hearth, dry birch logs stacked neatly, waiting to be lit. Woven carpets covered the floor and a large window, the panes filled with expensive squares of thin glass, looked out over the city of Bale from the north wall. Indels Castle, I noted, could be quite easily seen from here. Avenues, marked by stuttering lines of street lamps, stretched off in all directions. The river cut a broad swath of inky darkness through the city lights, smooth and sinuous as it snaked away toward the distant ocean.

I gazed out the window for a moment, then looked away, distracted by a building feeling of heat in my chest. _The spirit's resonating…?_

It wasn't difficult to locate the source. Set carefully on the edge of a shelf was a gilded ivory chest, thick, and about a hand span wide. The sort of thing in which you might expect a noble to keep trinkets of some value. Carefully I took it down from the shelf, turning it over as I did so. There was no visible lock but bright, multihued light shone through a thin crack running around the lid. I gave it a slight shake, and was rewarded with the slight _clack _of stones bumping one another. I smiled tightly. The spirits were here, but where were Kaelin and Zion?

//First things first// Ark said in a businesslike manner. //Get the spirits out of the box, then find them. They can't have gone too far// 

I nodded absently, setting the box down on the table and running my callused fingers around the edge. No lock, and no visible hinges. And while the aged ivory was brittle, I didn't really feel like smashing the thing open. 

A bird of some sort had been carved into the lid, two tiny rubies set where the eye should be. There was a third and a forth as well, each set into opposite ends of the box. Instead of rubies plain slivers of amethyst marked the eyes, cheap by comparison. They depressed under my touch, but the lid only loosened slightly before falling back into place as the pressure was released. /Damn. You must have to press all three birds at once/ Impossible, with only one hand. 

Slipping the box into the folds of my coat, I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. Zion and Kaelin. Of course the spirits would have been confiscated from them. But that would mean that in all likelihood they would be in the cells below the temple. Brilliant. How was I going to get all the way back down _there_ without being seen?

Behind me there was a sort of '_shuff'_ noise as the bottom of the door brushed across the top of the mats. I spun around, my good hand automatically reaching for the hilt of my sword, expecting guardsmen in the very least. As a result I was already moving when an aged man strode into the room and stopped, gaping. 

I let go of the hilt before the sword was halfway out of the sheath but my momentum carried me straight into him, plowing him down and sending me tumbling out into the hallway. Struggling back to my feet, I turned quickly. He lay half in and out of the doorway, eyes rolled back into his head. His chest rose and fell slightly; good. I didn't think that I had hit him all that hard anyway. Stuffing my sword the rest of the way into its sheath, I twisted it back into place. Grabbing him by the back of his robe, I dragged him back into the room before kicking flat the carpet and exiting, shutting the door firmly behind me. 

/Right. Let's get going/

****

Zion's POV:

I skidded around the corner, the head of my spear clipping the lamp overhead. Up ahead Kaelin had already caught her breath, and was peering cautiously up and down a side hallway. "I think we're safe," she said, her voice quiet as she pocketed her blades again. "Damn, we were lucky. I was positive that they would have noticed us."

"We got lucky," I agreed. Whatever had happened to cause that explosion that had caved in the tunnels beneath the temple, it had put everyone on edge. For a short time after the fact the lower levels of the temple had been quite empty, but as time passed and the threat seemed to have become of questionable nature the guardsmen and the occasional dread knight had returned indoors. They now stood everywhere in corridors, in groups of three or four, talking quietly in low voices. As a result we had had to tread carefully, and even so had been spotted once, and nearly fallen on top of two different groups coming around corners too fast.

I pushed sweaty hair back from my face, then frowned as I rubbed my slick fingers together. The sweat wasn't from exertion. 

"I don't know where you plan on looking for the spirits," she muttered as she came over to me. "This place has to be almost as large as Indels Castle. It could take days to find them again."

I shrugged, but I knew that I must have looked pained. "What else can we do? We have to get those spirits back somehow."

"The moment you think of an easier way than going through and searching every room, you tell me." She stifled a yawn, the bar tattoos across her cheekbone stretching with the movement. "In the meantime, I'd say that we have another quarter hour at most before getting back out becomes impossible. As it is, we're going to have to go out a window or something like that. There's no way I'm going back down to the first floor again." Bending over, she tightened the laces of her boot.

Grinding my teeth, I peered back down the corridor. What was someone to do in a situation like this. Stay, and risk getting caught, or run, and risk loosing the spirits for good? At least if we found them then we could always fly out of here. And Soltrane was around here somewhere still; we hadn't seen him in any of the crowds downstairs, but he still might be around somewhere. I rubbed my neck. If he saw us, no matter how courteous he had been to us in the cells, there would be no delay in his raising an alarm, of that I was sure.

Kaelin straightened, rubbing her hands on the front of her vest. "Got your breath? Fine. Come on hero-boy. Lots of work to do yet if you ever plan on getting those rocks back."

"Hero yourself," I retorted, stepping out past her and around the corner.

And found myself standing nose to nose with a dread knight. Not Soltrane; the helm had been twisted to form the head of some gruesome serpent, and I could clearly see the face of the man staring back out at me, apparently as surprised as I was. 

I haven't really been a prize fighter for all that long, really, but if you don't learn fast reflexes in the ring, then you'll get pounded. Worse, you'll miss the payout. So while my mind was still working out exactly what had just happened my body was already reacting, kicking out viciously. As the knight stumbled back into the bodies of the two guardsmen behind him the spear came around, scything across the armored chest in a shower of sparks. And then I was off and running after Kaelin, who had broke and ran the instant she had realized what was happening. Shouts rose behind me and I dodged left, following the blur of blue and brown ahead of me. How could anyone with legs that short run that fast?

The corridors passed by in a blur as we ran; left, right, right, left…I lost track as we raced deeper and deeper into the heart of the temple, guided by panic rather than any logical thought. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and breath broke hoarsely from my throat, as I ran, tripped, caught myself and continued on with hardly a pause in my flight. 

Ahead of me Kaelin disappeared around another corner; almost immediately there was a shout and the dull sound of two bodies colliding. Gritting my teeth I flipped my spear over in my hands. If it was another one of those ruddy guardsmen… skidding around the turn after her, I sprung up into the air with the lance held over my head, ready to strike.

"Oh for the love of-"

Ry twisted aside at the last second and the spear plunged harmlessly past, ricocheting off of the tiles and clattering across the floor. Relieved and confused, I doubled over with my hands on my knees and gulped down air. "Ry? How the…" I gasped, "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Here!" He thrust a small box at me, shoving it into my hands. "The spirits are in there. I can't open it."

"What the…?" I turned it over in my hands, confused. "But there's no latch!"

"Give it!" Agitated, Kaelin pulled the box out of my grip, fingers flying over the smooth ivory surface. Instantly the top snapped off, revealing the spirits and filling the corridor with multihued light.

I snatched back my spirit immediately, a little surprised at how relieved I was to have it back in my hands. I'd only ever used it twice, and already being separated from it made me feel as though I had lost an arm. Next to me, Kaelin examined hers carefully before tucking it back into her vest, nodding with some satisfaction. 

"Right, everyone happy now?" Ry jerked at the collar of his jacket, settling it. "I hope you guys had some idea as to how to get out of here."

"Window. It can't be that much of a drop to the courtyard," I started, but Kaelin cut in quickly, shaking her head.

"Can't do that. The wall surrounds the whole courtyard. Besides, whatever made that explosion… there'll be as many men out there as in here."

The sounds of chain mail reached my ears, and I shifted nervously. Apparently Ry heard it too, because he shook his head and turned away. "Never mind. I think I know something that might work. If nothing else, we'll just have to use you're spirits."

In the end we climbed the stairwell up to the third floor and found a room close enough to the wall that when the shutters were thrown back it was only a ten foot drop to the wall top. Vaulting off the edge of the wall into the shallow moat, we lay low for a few moments, then hurried out into the shadowy streets at a quick walk, the sloshing water in our boots making an interesting counter-point to the staccato of our footsteps. 

Once we had crossed several streets and put some considerable distance between ourselves and the temple, I felt my breathing start to return to normal. "So where are we going?" I asked, mopping sopping hair off of my brow. The air was still damp in the wake of the rainstorm, and a definite chill was settling into my clothes.

Scuff _squish,_ scuff _squish_. 

"I hired a boat this morning that should take us to Fueno." Ry pulled off his bandana, wringing it out and stuffing it into his pocket as wet hair plastered itself to his face. "It's not due to leave for a few hours yet, though."

"You sure?" Kaelin had her spirit out again and was turning it over in her hands. "Ship captains can be a bit lax about their schedules in port."

Ry chuckled, the sound muffled by the misty air. "Don't worry. The tide should be turning in a few hours. If nothing else, we can lay low until then."

"Oh." We walked in silence for another block or so, before the slow tolling of the temple bells marked the small hours of the morning. Unwillingly, my thoughts drifted back to the guardsmen.

"Do you think they'll come into the city?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Kaelin tucked the spirit away again.

"…why don't we move a bit faster?"

"Good idea. I'm getting cold."

Not really knowing my way around Bale well enough to hazard a guess at our location, I was content to follow Kaelin as she picked her way between the streets without hesitation. I thought it funny at first, before remembering that she was a thief. Of course she knew the city at night. 

Coming out at last onto the waterfront road, we stopped on the arch of a bridge to let Ry gather his bearings. The docks were clearly visible from here, the long arms of the quays extending far out into the river. Guttering torches lined the wharf, old oil-soaked rags wrapped around sticks. In front of the ships the torches became lamps; anything to reduce the risk of a fire, I guess. 

"That one," Ry said at last, pointing to a small schooner docked at the end of the wharf. "They were loading the cargo when I came on this morning…yesterday, actually," he corrected, realizing the time. "The dock officials have already been through, so they're all set to go."

"Okay…so what're we doing until then?"

By way of an answer, Ry stumped to the end of the bridge and stepped out onto the arm of the dock. Crates and barrels were stacked haphazardly nearby; slipping in between two rows, he sat down and disappeared from sight. "Find a spot and catch some rest. The tide won't come until nearly dawn, at any rate. May as well catch up on rest while you can." 

Arrrgh. Well, don't say that I didn't warn you. Sorry for the crazy length there. **stands on head** _-_ Hope you didn't fall asleep.

Wow. I'm bored. How bored, you ask? This bored:

I wanna know which character you guys like the most. So you know what that means! Popularity Poll time! You don't have to if you don't want to, but hey! Curiosity calls. So if you decide to, just drop a line via review or my e-mail (just enter the character's name as the subject heading) with your selection of one of the following choices: 

- Dart (_Surprisingly spry for his age ;~;)_

- Ragnarok (_The foul tempered anti-hero. Careful; he bites_)

- Zion (_Feed him a cookie and he'll follow you home!_)

-Kaelin ( _Disowned, and damn proud of it!_)

-Garren ( _Most likely to be turned into a SD plushy_)

-Nova ( _Needs a hug_)

-Ayrel (_ Spoiled, with power to boot _**winces and ducks, for ph34r of flying pointy objects**)

-Asalla (_Devoted mother of the millennia_)

-Other (_Insert your own comment here_)

I'll post the results within the next chapter or two. +_+0 Bwah.


	43. Side Story5

Shade: **All curled up under a blanket in a box Garfield-style, chewing on her teddy bear's ear while she dreams**

**The room is stocked with boxes with little, golden tags on them with labels reading things like **MUSE, INSPIRATION, PLOT, **and for some odd reason, **ARTICHOKES**. Easily accessible! Plot diagrams! Explanations! And *gasp*, dare she dream it, one solid, decisive ending (complete with a little blue road map with detailed, Shade-proof instructions explaining exactly how to get from point A to point B)! Truly, this must be-**

****POOF****

Shade: **wakes up suddenly-** PLOT!! Finally! ^________^…eh? 

Muse: **Wanders by her carrying two over-stuffed suitcases with bumper stickers pasted all over them that read '_Fiji or bust!'_** 

Shade: -.-; I've got to get a leash for that thing…

Muse seems to do that, doesn't it? Actually, it seems to be sticking around for the moment at least. I did start another plot map, so I have the next several chapters laid out, including a rematch in about six chapters or so. Wait, two rematches I guess you could say. Bwehe ^^. And I sit and snicker. 

Kejeth- Garren the next thunder dragoon? You'll just have to wait and see...

Sors- Advancements in science and magic? Muchos, though I haven't really touched on it. Although I really can't wait to see what certain winglies do with a keg of gunpowder…

**Side Story 5**

The sun was sinking slowly under the western horizon, setting the crests of the ocean waves afire as they ran up to the rocky island shore. The sky was scudded with clouds, but they were for the most part far off to the east, their woolly underbellies purple with the promise of rain. There was a gentle onshore breeze; it stirred the long leaves of the smooth-trunked trees surrounding the platform, setting them to rustling and the roosting seabirds into the air, crying out stridently as they circled on the wind. 

On the platform below most of the students had dispersed, grumbling stomachs calling them home more insistently than any dinner bell could. Even the masters had long since retired, giving in to the heat of the day rather than fight it. Now but one remained, callused feet sliding and stepping over the rough boards with a quick precision that far surpassed the talents of any but the most practiced of dancers.

Sweat ran in rivulets over Garren's bare shoulders as he finished the kata, and clasped his hands tightly in front of him as he took steady, shallow breaths. He held the stance for a few seconds before breaking, dipping a quick, respectful bow toward the setting sun and then heading to the log at the edge of the platform to retrieve his shirt. 

Pulling it over his head, he fished around behind the log for the wineskin he had left in the shade earlier that day. Out of respect for the people's sense of morality wine and other alcohol were scarce on the island, so the skin contained little more than warm water mixed with a pulped lemon, but the wingly gulped the sour mix down as though it were the finest cold ale. 

"Careful. Drink too fast and you'll get pains in your belly later on tonight."

Garren took one final, long swallow before wiping his mouth on his wrist and stuffing the bung back in the neck of the skin. "You tell me that every night Mary, and every night the same thing happens."

"And what, pray tell, would that be."

He shrugged and dropped the skin. "I get a bellyfull of pains. What else?"

Mary shook her head, sucking her bottom lip. With wispy white hair even paler than the wingly's, she had spent so many years out under the ocean sun that her skin looked like old leather, creased and pinched like a dried apple. At eighty-three she was old for a human; older certainly, than anyone else on the island save Garren himself. But in spite of her advanced years she still remained an active part of the village; no longer able to work nets on the fishing boats, she now oversaw the young woman who cleaned and gutted the day's catch, providing assistance where needed and picking out mistakes with a sharp eye. Now she watched Garren critically, her tongue probing the gum between a gap in her teeth. 

At last she turned away, tossing her hands in the air and snorting like an old mule. "I give up. One of these days I'll slip some lambswort leaves in that juice of yours. That'll teach you to guzzle it down like you do."

"If it makes you happy, Mary." Garren clapped her on the shoulder, grinning as her knees buckled slightly. "Seriously, though. Why'd you bother coming all the way up here? Someone so old and venerable as yourself shouldn't have to be climbing up all those stairs."

"Call me venerable again and I'm gonna kick you down those stairs. Hasmond sent me out to tell you to quit with the workout before you tear a muscle again. Exercise is good, but if you take it too far all you're going to do is hurt yourself."

Garren made a face. "Some things you have to learn the hard way, I guess," he muttered, picking up the skin again.

"You already smashed your fist up on that pillar last year. If that didn't learn you, nothing will. Oh," she added as an afterthought, "Hasmond also wanted me to tell you that there's a young lady looking for you in the village. Pretty little thing; has hair like you. Know her, by any chance?" She asked when Garren dropped the canteen.

"What? Why didn't you say so in the first place?" He demanded, pulling the cord free that had been holding his hair back. 

"Must have slipped my mind," she said smugly. "What with the venerable memory and all, there's bound to be some holes in it somewhere."

"Gawwh…" Giving up, Garren hopped off of the edge of the platform, feet sinking into the rich earth as he landed. Pushing his way through the undergrowth he stumbled out onto the path. 

Pebbles poked and jabbed at the soles of his feet as he jogged, but after the past few years spent on the splintery wood of the platform he hardly took any notice of it. Emerging out of the woods, he paused on the outskirts of the village to survey it with some measure of fondness. He'd come here once or twice before with Dart long ago, and time eternal had changed the coastal village little since then. It may have come to depend a little less on the fish and a little more on the goods merchant ships brought from the mainland, but the houses were still built on struts out over the water, with narrow catwalks and wharves making a walkway from door to door. Shallow canoes and dories were docked in the shade, out of the damaging sun. There were more houses than there once had been for sure, and more than once the better part of the village had had to be rebuilt in the wake of one of those damaging tropical storms that ravaged the coasts in the hot summer months, but it still retained the familiarity of the past years.

A small crowd had gathered on the arm of the wharf nearest to him, all talking and gesturing excitedly. Amid the riot of color that was the islanders he could now and then pick out a glimpse of black, tastefully accented with silver thread. Despite himself he shook his head knowingly. Expecting Nova to change out of a Ularian dress was like waiting for a rain in the desert; it happened rarely and only out of absolute necessity. 

At the moment she was speaking in earnest to a squat, vastly muscled man with short cropped hair. Hasmond was in his middle years; flecks of grey had only just begun to appear at his temples and in his beard. He stroked it now with broken nailed fingers as he spoke, though the words were lost upon Garren at such a distance. Nova appeared to be listening attentively but she was twisting a lock of hair anxiously around her index finger the way she always did when she was impatient. When her eyes flicked away from Hasmond's face Garren raised his hand, giving a little half-wave to catch her attention. Without missing a word of the conversation she nodded, indicating that he join them. 

__

What is she doing here? Garren wondered as he started across the catwalk. _Did something happen in Ulara?_ His breath caught in his throat for a moment, but came back slowly as he thought it through. No, Nova wouldn't be half so calm if something had happened to their home. She could be surprisingly emotional at times, not made of ice like some people whom he could name. _So what then?_

As he came into earshot Hasmond was shaking his head. "No, the mainland temples haven't made any attempts to establish themselves here. Heck, beyond a few letters sent with some of the merchant sailors, they've pretty much ignored us." He leaned back, scratching the back of his head as he grinned. "Anyway, why would they bother? We're just a backwater port filled with people who have backward ideas and shout 'HAA!' a lot." He twisted his head around as Garren approached. "Oh, there you are kid. Thought Mary must have fallen down those steps or something, you took so long getting here."

"I see." Nova nodded her thanks to Hasmond, then brushed past him to grab Garren rather firmly by the elbow. Still calling out thanks over her shoulder, she steered him very firmly back along the wharf, away from the little crowd. When they had gone far enough, she pulled him down slightly so that she could speak in his ear.

"Is there anywhere moderately private we can go? There's a lot we need to discuss."

"Uh…the platform, I guess." He gestured toward the dimming horizon. "People don't usually bother going up there after dark unless there's a meeting or something."

"Good." She released his elbow. "Go on, then. Lead the way."

Earlier that day some of the younger students had been around to tidy up the platform. This generally included clearing away fallen branches or leaves and changing the oily rags on the torches. They sprung crackling to life as Garren went from one to the next, lighting them from the tongue of flame sitting in the palm of his hand. The dark deck gradually lightened, until when Garren at last let his own flame die out the platform had become a spot of golden light, supported by struts over the rocky shallows. 

Nova sat on the edge of the deck, letting her legs dangle out into open space as she watched the churning surf below. Until now her experience with the sea had been brief and rather fleeting; the cold frigid waters surrounding Millie Seasue had been cold an uninviting. Here though, the tropical water was almost as warm as a bath. Making a mental note to go swimming, or at least for a quick wade if the chance came, she sidled over as Garren crouched down next to her, balanced on the balls of his feet.

"You look like you've been doing well."

Garren shrugged, staring out to see. "The people are nice here. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff they taught me."

"That's good." Picking a piece of bark off of the strut she dropped it, watching it fall. "Everyone's on edge back home. We haven't heard anything about what's been going on since the last time you paid us a call."

"What?" He looked over at her sharply, blowing the hair out of his eyes. "What's going on with Dart?"

"I was hoping that maybe you'd know." She shook her head. "You know what he's like when it comes to keeping in touch. He could be dead for all we know. Not that he is or anything-" she added hastily, catching the look on his face, "-I just mean that we've been getting worried, that's all."

"What about Tygris? Can't he tell you anything?"

"He's a dragon, Garren. He can't exactly go up to someone in the street and strike up a conversation. Besides, Charle doesn't want him taking any over-extended vacations anymore. Guarding the cygnet has become more important what with Ayrel loose and all. Speaking of which, he's on the other side of the island at the moment waiting to give us a lift back to the mainland."

"Huh?" Garren rocked back onto his heels, then fell on his bottom with a thump. 

"We're going to try to find Dart and Ragnarok. I've been going crazy sitting around in Ulara, and quite frankly I'm sick of it. Besides, I missed you. You have no idea how boring it can get when you have no one around to laugh at for falling into a fountain."

Garren flushed at the comment. "Hey, I only did that once."

"Twice at least. And that was while you were sober. I've lost count of the other ones." The torch overhead spluttered as the breeze gusted suddenly, sending sparks swirling out over the water. Nova searched through the pockets of her dress and pulled out a wooden clip and twisted her arms awkwardly behind her head as she twisted her hair into a knot. "In any case, we're going to have to look at leaving sometime early tomorrow morning. Tygris isn't overly anxious to get back and be told off by Caron and my mother, but he's a bit nervous about being away for too long too. Says that he'll try to keep an eye one u when he can, though. Besides, everyone back home will be glad to have some way of knowing what's going on, even if they won't admit it."

"I guess so." Rocking back and forth once he somersaulted over backwards away from the edge. Getting to his feet, he stretched. "Well, if we're leaving tomorrow then I have some things that I'd better take care of first. Do you need a place to stay?"

"I already have a room at the inn. Just come and get me before sunrise."

"Right." He started toward the stairs, then stopped. "Coming?"

"I'll stay up here for a while, if you don't mind. I like the sound of the ocean. Oh, and Garren? Go take a shower or something while you're at it."

"What?"

"You stink like sweat. There is no way you're getting on that dragon with me tomorrow if you smell like that." She turned away, watching the reflection of the torches on the heaving backs of the waves below. 

"I'll keep that in mind."

She listened to Garren's retreating footsteps without looking back. Only when they had faded completely did she get to her feet, not bothering to shake the wrinkles out of her skirt. The wind was picking up slightly; the cool air was heavy with the sharp salt tang of ocean, mixed with the gentle perfume of flowers blooming further along the shore. What month was it anyway? Nova let out her breath with a sigh. 

Overhead the Moon hung in the sky like an unspoiled pearl; the spider-like network of ridges crisscrossing the surface seeming to shift and shiver in the clear night air. 

Bwe. Big contrast of length between the two chapters, ne? Oh well. Side stories aren't meant to be very long. So there you go. Nova and Garren are officially back in the running…

Poll Results?

Ragnarok takes it by a long shot. ^^ Dart and Garren are wandering back somewhere in second and third…well, I think Garren got a little mowed down along the way.

Garren: **laying on the floor twitching**

…methinks you may have glomped him a wee bit too hard Fifi. **Slaps herself** What am I saying? You can never glomp your favorite too hard! **Latches onto Garren's leg** ^-^

****


	44. Solana

Shade: **curled up into a little ball in the corner of her room, frothing at the mouth and chewing on the carpet**

Zion: **Perched uncomfortably atop her dresser, poking at her with a long thin stick** Jeez, is she rabid or something? What's up with her?

Garren: **sitting nervously on a _very_ wobbly three-legged table** She just found some screenshots for Xenosaga II that she hadn't seen yet. She was on a high for a couple of hours, then realized that she still has to wait for the release.

Zion: That's stupid. Who on earth wastes their-GAH!

Shade: **having chewed up the carpet, she has now begun to maul the end of the stick, gnawing viciously and spitting out splinters as she goes**

Garren/Zion: 0~0;

Urrgh. I absolutely _hate_ having to wait for the next installment of a series. 'Tis akin to pulling someone's teeth out through their nose methinks. Xenosaga II Japanese release date has been set for early June, but does that help? **twitch** A bit. I'll be happier when the NA date is released. I'll be happier yet when I'm frittering away the hours plowing through the game in order to get to the overly-long cinemas.

Me, Obsessed? You really think so? :P

**Dart's POV:**

The ocean stretched in an unbroken line from horizon to horizon, white-capped waves tossing and foaming under the shadow of the grey-bellied clouds that scudded across the sky and hid the sun and moon. The guiding wind whistled morosely, carrying a few far-ranging seabirds spiraling over the waves as they hunted for some of the smaller species of fish that lived closer to the surface. Between the sea and the sky the schooner skimmed over the heave and pull of the breakers, running up the side of one wave to crest the cap and plow down the other side in a shower of foam and spray. 

Leaning over the rail, I clasped one of the taut, salt crusted lines with raw fingers. Though fall had only just come to the land, the sea was already being frequented by the brief but savage squalls that were so much a part of the colder seasons and the air was sharp with a perpetuating chill. But above the sail was stretched to the limit, filled with the steady wind, and behind us the calm of the wake was broken up by the rollers. During the calmer months of the year steamships made better time, but with the wind and waves working against it one would have floundered in these waters. Besides, steamships were reserved for naval warfare or emergencies. While they couldn't be stalled by a change in the winds, the dragon fire that fueled the furnaces was expensive and difficult to come by; one vat of the violet flame could cost as much as a small wind-powered boat. To make matters worse, the oil that sustained it took up much of the cargo room and made any pipe-smoking crewmember a hazard. The immense cost, coupled with the loss of cargo room, was enough to make most merchant captains to turn away with a shudder. As a result the sailing ships were still in heavy use out of the general wish to preserve the buyer's wallet. _Though_, I mused as I watched a grey-winged gull keeping pace with the side of the ship, _there may be a certain amount of preference involved in the choice as well_.

//My, aren't we pensive this morning//

/The ocean does that to me sometimes/ I let go of the briny rope and stepped away from the rail, the threadbare hem of my coat snapping in the wind behind me. Under the soles of my boots the deck's dark timbers were slick with wet from the spray, and I tread as carefully as one could across a rocking deck toward the lean-to that protected the hatch leading into the cabins. 

//Four days now. How much longer do you think until we reach Fueno?//

/Captain said it would be at least a week and a half in good weather. After making up for all that ground that we lost with that bad wind yesterday, probably closer to two/

//Wonderful. If I have to put up with Zion's complaints about his stomach for another night, I think I might throw him overboard//

/He seemed to be feeling better this morning. If not, we can always get the cook to give him something that'll put him low for the night/ Ducking through the low door, I turned around and began to back carefully down the steep stair. 

//Just so long as it works// Ark said as my heels thumped onto the floor. At the same moment the hull lurched alarmingly to the left as the boat skidded down the side of a particularly awkward wave, sending me stumbling hard against the wall. The little room above continued in a way into the cabin below, forming a small space that was separated from the rest of the cabins by a narrow plank door. Steadying myself against another violent pitch, I grabbed the iron latch and squeezed, pushing the door open and ducking into the room beyond. 

I was hit immediately with a welter of confused scents; salt, damp cloth, tar, stale sweat, and riding over it all the heavy savory-sweet smell of frying onions. I wrinkled my nose, recognizing the last immediately. While I'm not particularly adverse to fried onions, the cook seemed to think that every sort of food short of gruel should be garnished with the stringy things. Not that the crew seemed to care; sugar didn't keep well for long before it clumped up and became unusable, so the sweet onion juice gave the otherwise bland fish and pork something of a flavor to counter the boiled cabbage and grainy meal. 

Stumping along the narrow hall with my head just brushing the beams overhead, I stopped at one of the close doorways spaced along the walk. A heavy canvas curtain hung from the top of the frame in place of a door, and the bottom had been splashed with tar at some point in time. Pushing it aside, I stepped up onto the sharply tilting floor of our quarters.

I use the term 'quarters' in the sense that there were four bunks, a floor, and a ceiling. The bunks were lumpy narrow things, only just long enough for a short man. Two bunks atop one another on either side of the room, the floor sloped sharply away from the wall as it followed the angle of the hull. Thin bars of wood had been hammered horizontally to the planks to provide some form of traction, and sand filled the cracks between the boards. Because of the slope the height of the room became less and less as one headed toward the far wall, so that when you finally reached the small circular window that was the room's only source of light, you were on your knees. This was no real problem, since most of the time in the cabin was spent lying down in the bunks, but it didn't make the accommodations any more comfortable.

At the moment, two of the four bunks were occupied. The first was laden down with the little gear and supplies that we had been carrying when we took leave of Bale; noticeably less than I might have preferred given the choice. Zion lay splayed across the second, one leg crunched under him while the other dangled off of the side of the bunk. He looked up blearily as I entered, then dropped his head back onto the flat pillow when he saw who it was. "Shoot me. Please."

"Sorry. I don't carry a crossbow." Sidling the rest of the way into the room, I sat with some difficulty on the bunk across from his, my spine scraping against the planks of the one above.

He groaned, then pulled the pillow from beneath him and plunked it onto his head. The ship lurched again, and the pillow went tumbling in accompaniment to another groan.

Kaelin shook her head. She had seated herself at the high end of the floor in preference to the beds, her feet braced against the bars of wood. "Zion, you're pathetic. Guardsmen don't bother you, but a little bit of seasickness is enough to send you cowering to your bed."

"You wanna try…urp….and fight your own stomach?"

"Why don't you go above for a bit," I suggested. "The air might clear your head."

"All I'd do is clean out my stomach. Seeing the waves just make things worse." He started to stretch, then winced as he bumped his head. "Why do they have to make these bunks so damn small?"

//Dump him overboard// Ark suggested again.

"Sleep on the floor again then."

"Not if Kaelin's going to step on me like she did the other night." Easing himself slowly out of the bunk, Zion stretched his legs out in front of him before getting to his feet. It wasn't difficult to see the source of his misery. The low roof forced him to stand almost doubled over, swaying back and forth slightly with the motion of the ship. The slant of the floor didn't help matters much either. Sandy-eyed and slightly peaked, he had the distinct appearance of someone who hadn't slept well or at all for many nights. Rubbing his eyes with one fist, he squinted at me. "What time is it anyhow?"

"Getting on toward dinner. The cook's starting to re-fry onions." I fiddled with the knot of my bandana, letting the red strip of cloth fall away and shaking out my hair. It was stiff with brine from the ocean spray, and felt almost resinous to the touch. 

Zion's face took on a distinct greenish-white cast. "Maybe I will go up on deck."

"You do that."

When the curtain fell back into place after he left, Kaelin shook her head. "Poor boy. Next time, why don't you hire a better ship? This has to be one of the worst I've ever seen."

"The options were sort of limited at the time. Is he still upset about his sword?"

"A bit. He did say that he thinks he could get a new one forged in Fueno, but I guess it means more to him than that, huh?"

I nodded absently. "His brother gave it to him before he died." With our quick leave-taking of Bale, Zion's sword had been left behind in Lyke's mansion. I supposed that we could always come back later to retrieve it, assuming that Lyke didn't sell it off, but in the meantime the kid was going to go without a blade. Kaelin on the other hand had managed to purchase a curved fencing saber from the surplus of the ship's cargo. The captain hadn't been overly pleased about it, but after taking a good look at the crew, Kaelin had quite adamantly stated that there was no way she was getting on the ship without one. It lay on her bunk now, the twisted wires of the basket hilt gleaming dully in the light of the window. 

//At least we're getting somewhere now// Ark muttered as she got to her feet and pulled the saber from where it lay.

"I'm going to go above and practice for a bit."

"Uh huh. Don't cut any ropes." /As long as the cult doesn't send any of their ships after us, we should be out of reach for the moment/

//That's something// The curtain fell back across the door and I slid of the bunk and onto the floor.

/So what when we get to Fueno?/

//Get your shoulder patched up. If there's a potential dragoon in the area, the spirits should respond and we can track them down//

/What makes you so positive that one will come through there?/

//Nothing really. But it's a major seaport, especially at this time of year with the fall harvest and all. There're a lot of people moving through there//

/Gotchya/ I lay back, trying to ignore the slats of wood that bit into my back. No sooner than I had closed my eyes then a particularly large breaker pitched the boat, causing me to lurch painfully and crack my head on the base of one bunk. I sat up, groaning.

//One more week then//

/One more week/ I agreed sourly.

Maybe I would go above deck after all.

**Solana's POV:**

The sun beat down like a hammer overhead, baking out what little moisture remained in the cracked and sandy ground after last night's rainfall. The day was near spent; the blue-brown shadows cast by the low foothills could be measured in miles with the sun sitting nearly on their peaks. The foothills themselves looked cracked; old ravines, filled with boulders and ancient detritus creased the surface, so that a distance they seemed to be veined. What water had once carved them into the rock was long gone. At one time far, far in the dim past the foothills that made up what was now known as the uplands of Tiberoa had been fertile, a haven for the primitive people of the day. But the Dragon Campaign of lore had left a broken land in its wake, magic sapping the life from the land until it had become a waste to rival the natural deserts of the Death Frontier in the lands to the west. Barren and all but fruitless, the land's inhabitants had retreated to the coastal regions were some life remained. 

Roads, far and few between, wandered aimlessly across the scorched landscape. Along the most westerly of them dust, quick to rise but slow to settle, hung heavy on the air, stirred by dozens of horses hooves in passage. Even after the little crowd had passed it hung suspended for long minutes, a shapeless mass of brown hovering over the trail.

I wiped my forehead with a linen handkerchief, grimacing as the white cloth came away covered in grime. Sweat and dust rarely make a good mix I've noticed, and the thin reed parasol that I carried over my shoulder did little to reduce the heat. The thin cotton riding dress I wore did help some, but there is really very little that you can do to fight heat. This was really no day to be out for a ride, but sometimes there aren't any choices attached to the situation. 

An energetic queen isn't really a bad thing, provided that that energy is guided by good sense. Unfortunately good sense is a gift, and one that had passed Queen Cassandra IV by while she still lay in the cradle. As a result her energy was put toward the fulfillment of a host of random whims, for the most part childish and selfish. Her husband had passed away shortly after she had given birth to her first and only child, leaving her in power until the boy was grown. In truth she was queen in name only; the ministers of the temple had supplanted what power the throne normally occupied normally, advisors to the queen who in effect ran Tiberoa from behind the scenes. 

"I don't know what she was thinking, ordering a ride in this heat."

My mount snorted and I glanced over. Cai rode by my side, his eyes shaded by a broad brimmed hat. Tall with pale blond hair and green eyes he cut an imposing figure, if not quite a handsome one, as he sat easily to Dyanne's rough trot. At one time in his youth he had served as a captain in the King's guard; through outstanding service he had been appointed a minor rank and given permission to marry into one of the noble houses. My husband of five years now, he had not given in and gone to seed as so many retired soldiers do. He glanced at me, his eyes shaded from the sun. "Are you okay? You've been quiet lately."

"Just thinking," I replied, shifting my grip on the reins. "The heat sort of slows the mind down, doesn't it?"

"I've noticed," he said dryly. "Even if her majesty decides to turn around soon, we'll be spending the last leg of the ride in the dark."

"It wouldn't be the first time." As the column slowed to a walk, I reached up to wipe the dust from my brow again. One of my red-blonde pleats fell loose as I did so, and I absently tucked the narrow braid back into place. The column in which we rode was composed of forty or more horses and mules of every size and description, carrying everyone from the queen herself to the personal servants of the higher courtiers. The dust train behind us stretched for miles, an insubstantial snake writhing in the air after our passing. Near the front of the line we were clear of the worst of the dust; I hated to think about what it must be like further along. Normally the only time that the courtiers gathered together was during a particularly important meeting or on one of the more noted days of the year, but since the queen had decided that we all could use some exercise, well… there wasn't all that much help for it but to tack up and join her on her ride. 

The horse in front of me came to a stop and I drew rein, Keighli dancing nervously beneath me. "What now?" I wondered aloud, reaching down to pat her sweating neck. 

Katia Charde, who sat on the dappled animal just ahead of us, turned slightly in her saddle. "I imagine her highness has decided that this outing has lasted long enough," she said, a slight frown creasing her forehead as she did so. Heavyset and wearing a green silk dress belted at the waist with a paisley sash, she cut a figure not unlike that of a squat hourglass when she turned to face forward again. 

Beside me Cai scowled, but I kept my face smooth. I knew what the frown was for; even though the King had rewarded his services with a barony the other members of the court had never accepted him, seeing him as a rough, unschooled peasant. Which he was, and still is I suppose, but it was that rough charm that drew me to him in the first place. There still were lingering feelings of disapproval left over from our marriage, but I'd long since learned to ignore the looks of disgust we often received from the other members of the court. 

It's a good thing I'm a goodly way down the list for succession; otherwise, they might have decided to force a divorce on me before things had even gotten going. Fortunately, the last time any of my line sat on the throne was nearly a thousand years ago.

For several long minutes the line remained still, the horses alternately shifting nervously or dozing off, grateful for the chance to rest. As the sun slipped behind the hilltops I took down the parasol, handing it to one of the servants as he scuttled past on his mule. Without the sun the temperature would be dropping quickly, so there was really no need. Pulling my shawl out from beneath my seat, I shook the dust out of it before slinging it across my back. It slid down almost immediately, catching in the crooks of my elbows. 

Swinging one leg over his horse's rump, Cai slid down from the saddle to carefully pick up one of the broad, dinner-plate hooves of his animal. While he inspected it I steered Keighli out of the line to where a brittlebush grew next to the road. While she snapped off twigs and stripped it of what few leathery leaves remained to it I sat back, my attention focusing on the little group at the head of the line. My view was almost uninterrupted, and so I had a good vantagepoint to watch the proceedings.

They had broken away from the rest of the group, and now stood clustered as close together as the horses would allow a ways to the side of the road. The most immediately noticeable of the three was Cassandra herself, fanning herself anxiously as she sat astride and impressive white gelding that looked more suited to life as a war horse than a palfrey. Though she had discarded her heavily embroidered and elaborate gowns in favor of something lighter out of respect for the heat, it still would have been impossible to mistake her for anything other than a lady of high station. Long silk skirts, brilliant turquoise and of the finest weave, dangled halfway to the dusty ground, slashed with bars of yellow near the hem. The pattern repeated itself again at the waist with a broad yellow sash, and again as the chest and wide sleeves had been gored and paneled with more of the marigold silk. Over this all she wore the thin blue dust cloak, hardly more than a film of delicate gauze. Her hair hung down her back in a loose cascade, held back at the temples by a broad silver torc. The end result was of the appearance of a garish butterfly, and one ill-suited to the rigors of the desert at that. She was a woman deeply concerned with her outer appearance and not much else, much to the dismay and displeasure of the court. In truth the only reason her right to the throne remained as yet unquestioned was her ties to the Moon Temples, embodied in the nondescript man who sat on an aging bay to her right. 

Saimon Ketheral was hardly a high priest; he rarely left the palace except for his daily sojurnes down to the temple in the city, or during occasions like this. He was the palace deacon I suppose you could say, but his only real purpose for remaining in the palace so close to the queen was to act as a messenger and intermediary for the high priest Malion who resided in the city temple. So plain as to look common, he could hardly have differed more from the woman to his left. With a neatly cropped blond beard and hair of the same color caught in a tail at the nape of his neck, he wore plain clothes of blue and brown linen and high leather boots that nearly reached his knees. Soft spoken and trustworthy, he was one of the few truly honest men in the palace. It was his honesty that probably landed him the position in the first place. Because of his close friendship with the queen Malion was provided with an easy tool with which to manipulate the poor woman, and Saimon, too innocent to question his superior, went right along with it. 

The third member of that particular little party stood his horse a short distance apart from the other two, a long-backed roan with a decidedly nasty temper. His was a unique position; neither a noble nor a commoner by definition, he wore a deep red tunic belted at the waist, the long sleeves unlaced so that his arms were burned and peeling from exposure to the sun. Faded grey trousers, loose and worn from hard wear, clung to his sweaty skin and flopped over the top of his high boots. A one-time miner, he sat starring into the distance as he scratched absently at the fringe of a red beard that had sprouted from his chin. Every now and then he would reach down to touch the long javelin tied beneath his stirrup, as though to make sure it were still there. If one were to walk by him in the street, he would appear no different from the next man. And yet this seedy-looking fellow had in a very real way more power than most people could ever hope to grasp in a lifetime. 

Rian Golaan, born among miners and now dragged among nobles, was a dragoon. A pet dragoon to the temple to be sure, caught up in an involuntary oath to serve the Moon Child, but a dragoon none the less. In a way this entire idiocy of a ride could be set squarely on his shoulders: before his appearance, Cassandra would never have risked venturing out into the monster-infested barrens without an escort of at least a score of armed guardians. Her fears seemed to have vanished with the appearance of Rian however, and with his family currently residing in the bowels of the temple under the close guard of three dread knights at any one time, his absolute obedience was assured.

The entire situation made me sick, but there was nothing to be done. My own rank in the court is relatively low, but even if I was the Queen's high advisor I doubt that there would be anything to be done about it. The Moon Child wanted all dragoons to be loyal to her, and her priests would go to any lengths to make sure that her wishes were fulfilled. 

At last the conversation broke and Saimon rode forward, raising his voice so that it could be clearly heard by at least half of the line. 

"We are to head back now, before the twilight deepens. Cutting across country should save us some time, so the ride will be a little rough," he said apologetically, "But it should allow us to return home at a reasonable hour."

"If he calls the middle of the night a reasonable hour, I'd hate to see what he calls 'late'," Cai grumbled. He had since remounted, and now worked the stopper out of his wineskin. Taking a long drink, he handed it to me. "It's quite warm," He apologized, "but it's got more flavor than the swill the servants picked up at the river."

"You're a dear, Cai." Taking a swallow, I replaced the cork and passed it back. 

Tucking it under the stirrup, he grimaced as the line started to move haphazardly out into the countryside. "C'mon. We'd best get moving."

The last traces of daylight faded from the sky to be replaced with the blue-black of night, and the landscape was bathed in the eerie blue-white light of the moon. The mountains in the distance became blotches of black; jagged peaks cutting dark silhouettes against the stars. Often we passed fingers of rock that rose from the ground without rhyme or reason to their shape, disconcerting pinnacles which shadows twisted into frightening shapes in the mind's eye. The line moved slowly across the rocky ground, snaking cautiously down steep slopes and speeding into a canter as we funneled through some of the safer ravines. Soon though my forehead was once again clammy with sweat, in spite of the chill in the air. The stress combined with the physical strain of guiding Keighli over the difficult terrain was wearing me out, and I could clearly see the flaw in Saimon's reasoning of our route. While cutting across country was the shorter route back to Fletz as the crow flies, the terrain- and the darkness- would make it infinitely longer. The road on the other hand, though it twists several miles to the north and is the greater distance, is clear and reasonably smooth, making it the quicker ride. With the opportunity to turn back long past though, I bit my comments and settled in for the ride, which fulfilled its promise to become more uncomfortable with each passing moment.

Gradually the mountains fell away and the shoreline rushed up to meet us, screened from view by a narrow band of broad-leafed trees. Gradually I brought myself to relax. The footing was better here; the rocky soil had changed to yielding earth within a few steps and the twisted, disconcerting rock formations had disappeared as we approached the fertile strip. Patches such as these rimmed the coast in many places, a tangible reminder to a time when the waste was green.

Since areas such as these quite obviously cannot thrive on the salty water of the ocean, it wasn't any great stretch of time before we stumbled on a shallow brook cutting its way through the trees, its banks overhung with clumps of grass and weeds. After Keighli had taken her fill I took her a short distance away from the horses crowding the stream and dismounted, grateful for the chance to get out of the saddle and stretch my legs.

The night was clear and the moon particularly bright, the blue-silver light filtering down through the broad leaves of the canopy and dappling the grassy floor with a play of light and shadow. The little wood was not dense, and I could see the ocean through gaps in the trunks. Drawing my shawl closer about my shoulders I tied Keighli to a springy sapling and began to make my way through the dark wood toward the shore. It would take some time for all of the animals to get their fill of water after the hot ride, so I was in no particular rush. An onshore wind whispered through the trees, filling the air with the quiet rustle of leaves. 

As I drew closer to the shore the trees grew sparse, the distance growing greater from the first to the next with each step. Now and then I had to step over the bone-white trunk of a fallen scrag, the dead branches clawing and catching at my skirts like bony fingers. Not until I tripped over a root and stumbled up against one of the standing trees did I realize something was wrong.

They were dead. Before I had thought it a trick of the moonlight, but leaning against the one I could see that the trunks were smooth and clean of bark, as pale as the skeletons they so closely resembled. Breath catching in my throat even as I furrowed my brows, I stepped back to get a better look. I had been so intent on reaching the water that I hadn't noticed; the change from the healthy to sickly happened abruptly, as though an invisible, semi-circular perimeter had been drawn up to protect the rest of the forest from whatever disease had so blighted this part of the wood. And blighted it was; turning slowly until I was once more facing the ocean, I noticed several stumps off to my left; when I bent down to examine them my fingers came away covered with char and ash.

__

Something burnt these? I rubbed my fingers together, feeling the grit. Something was wrong here; my spine prickled as I gradually became able to put a name to what it was I felt. Malice lay over the dead forest like a blanket; a moldering leprosy that clung to the splintering trunks of the scrags. Still crouching next to the stumps, I let my gaze wander out to the calm waters of the inlet. Something immobile reared out of the water there; something as huge and twisted as the rocky pinnacles we'd seen inland, but at the same time _not_… 

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder and I nearly jumped clean out of my skin. "Solana? What are you doing all the way out here? The horses are almost ready to move again."

I sighed as Cai pulled me to my feet. "Sorry. I just felt like stretching my legs a bit." Dusting off my skirt, I straightened. "Isn't it odd though?"

"What's odd?" the reply was gruff.

"The forest you dolt. Look-" I gestured at the trees surrounding us "-isn't it odd? They're all dead."

"Make good firewood then."

"Cai, I'm serious!" A panic was starting to build in my mind, though I could not for the life of me understand why. 

"So am I. We have to get going dear. Whether a bunch of trees live or die really isn't of any concern to us." Taking my hand, he pulled it gently back in the direction from where we'd come. 

I let him stretch my arm out to its full length without moving, thinking fast. Something was obviously wrong here; something more important than a bunch of dying trees, but how to get him to see? But before I could open my mouth to test out an explanation, a shadow detached itself from the darkness, stepping in close enough for me to see the feathery red beard sprouting from his chin, the color leeched away by the moonlight.

"Excuse me if I'm intruding," Rian said in his deadpan voice, "but the Queen says that you're to return to the group now, unless you fancy spending the night out here alone." 

I peered at him through the enshrouding darkness. "As her majesty wishes," I replied meekly, though my mind worked quickly. He was a dragoon; surely he could feel it too? But even as I opened my mouth again the air was split by an inhuman scream that echoed endlessly in the clear air and sent my eardrums to throbbing. Spinning around, I felt the half-formed sentence die on my tongue.

The thing out in the water was alive. The tranquil ocean waters churned into a white froth as it rose it straightened with a grinding of rock beneath it's massive feet, hunching shoulders and awesome, lanky limbs pale against the dark sky. For a moment it simply stood there with water streaming from it's bulk; thirty feet of seeming rock looming up out of the water, dark red eyes glinting in the faint light. If I'd been forced to put a name to it I may have called it a golem, but from somewhere in the depths of my memory a second, more fitting name born from a childhood of plowing through history books wormed itself into the light. 

__

Virage.

The titan screeched again, and the very earth seemed to tremor with the sound. It took one step forward, then another, swirling water sucking and rushing as it rushed to fill the space where the monstrosity had stood a moment before. With some difficulty it lifted one clawed foot, stepping with one great lurch over the rocky bank that fell steeply away into the water and onto solid land without breaking stride. 

The ground trembled as it moved forward, and behind me I heard Rian utter an oath. Seizing my shoulders roughly, he jerked me out of my paralysis and gave me a shove toward the forest. "Get out of here! Hurry back to the others and start them running!" When I didn't immediately move, eyes still locked on the virage, he barked "**_Now!_**"

"C'mon Lass!" Grabbing me by the elbow, Cai half led, half towed me into a run. Able to move at last, I tore my eyes away and followed.

Bone white trunks of trees flashed past as we ran, racing for the relative safety of the living forest. Before we reached the boarder between living and dead however I risked a glance back over my shoulder- and immediately wished that I hadn't. The virage was stumbling across the uneven ground in a shambling run, its long arm- the right one seemed to be missing- swinging back and forth in front of its knees as it ran. Rian stood alone between the creature and the forest, looking small and insignificant by comparison, even as his form enveloped in emerald light…

I stumbled and Cai caught my arm, pulling me upright and along without breaking stride. Dark, leafy trees rose up around us, closing in and effectively obscuring the view into and out of the dead patch. The path that stretched out before us, which had before seemed so stark and clear now appeared overgrown, thorns and branches pulling at our clothes and tree roots and snarls of grass and weed tripping and tangling our feet even as we ran. 

"Where?" Cai shouted, hands raised to cover his face as we bulled our way through the undergrowth. "Where are they?"

"I think-"

There was an indescribable rushing noise, followed on its heels by a soundless explosion of searing, blinding white light. When it finally died I was lying on my back on the cool, loamy earth, blinking in confusion as sunspots danced across my vision, jumping to follow my eyes wherever I tried to look. Something warm was running down my forehead, pooling temporarily in the hollow between my right eye and the bridge of my nose before following the line of my cheek, running over my lips to drip to the dirt. I was bleeding? I could smell it; the heavy, iron stink of blood filled my nose as it dribbled over my upper lip. I could smell other things too; disturbed earth, burning wood…but oddly no smoke. Just ash and charcoal. Sound was difficult; somewhere people were screaming, and there was the awful crash and snap of wood mingled with panicked squeals; horses stampeding into the undergrowth.

Slowly, gingerly, I sat up, waiting patiently until the moment of dizziness passed. The sunspots were fading and I had a clear view of the forest; at least, as clear a view as one could have in the dark of night. Reaching up to dab blood away from the split on my forehead with my sleeve, I waited for what my eyes were telling me to make sense. 

There was no fire. Puzzled, feeling as though my thoughts were packed with wool, I peered ahead. The trees before me were gone, nothing more than a swath of charred stumps of perhaps fixe or six feet across. There was a method to it; at the far end the trees had been lopped off about a quarter-way up the trunk, steadily decreasing until when the 'slope' reached the other end the remaining stumps were hardly higher than my ankle, cut through as cleanly as molding clay split by a knife. Beyond that was only scorched earth, a deep trench of torn up dry soil. There was no sign of anyone, though the panicking screams of human and horse still echoed through the little woodland. 

Slowly, like molasses draining through a sieve, coherent thought came seeping back, and with it no small measure of panic. Cai. Where was he? Bile rising in my throat, I scrambled to my feet, staggered, and nearly fell as pain stabbed through my ankle. Gasping out an oath, I reached out and took hold of a nearby tree branch to support myself. It must have been sprained during the concussion from the Virage's- the more I thought about it, the more certain I was that was what it had been- attack. But if that was all that had happened to me, what then…

My thoughts cut off abruptly as I spotted a dark figure sprawled on the ground several yards to my right. Hobbling over a tangle of roots, I slumped to my knees and rolled Cai over onto his back, holding my breath. There was really no need to be anxious -he stirred at my first touch- but I felt him over anyway with shaking hands, not missing the dislocated shoulder or the shallow cut that was slowly bleeding out over his ribcage. Painful maybe, but nothing life-threatening. Letting my breath out in a gasp of relief, I half lifted him, cradling his head in my arms. 

"Solana…" He groaned, and tried to sit up. He got about halfway before his shoulder forced him down again, and he gritted his teeth. "Solana, you have to get out of here."

"I'm not leaving you." I know, that line's probably been said half a million times if it has been said once, but it was the truth.

"Don't be an idiot. Grab one of those horses and…gah!"

"Did I just poke your shoulder? So sorry." My voice hardened. "I'm not leaving without you, Cai. I'd rather have that virage step on me before I ran off and left you for dead."

"Virage?" He struggled into a sitting position, and this time he managed to stay there, though he was sweating bullets. "Is that what it was?"

"I think…" my voice trailed off as the creature in question blundered into view, clearly visible over the burnt off swath of trees. It was staggering back and forth almost drunkenly, making broad swipes at the air with its only arm. The object of its agitation was spiraling about its head, bright sparks falling in his wake as he dodged and feinted, dived and spun as he fought to get close enough to use his fantastic looking spear on the monster's stony hide. 

I had seen pictures of dragoons on tapestries and paintings before, but the most fanciful interpretation of the dragon knight fell far short of the reality. Rian literally seemed to glow as he fought; whether this was natural or if he was under the influence of some sort of spell was impossible to say. Gossamer wings flared and tucked as he danced nimbly around the virage's clumsy blows, chancing a strike at the small face and vulnerable eyes. The creature flinched back, countering with a surprisingly swift blow that sent Rian spinning away. 

"What…how is…" Cai seemed to be at a loss for words; even the pain in his shoulder, which should have been at the point of unbearability, seemed forgotten as he watched the spectacle, stunned.

Rian righted himself and turned, green and gold sparks spraying around him like a firework. The green glow had faded and his armor now gleamed a faint green-grey in the color leeching moonlight; the effects of a spell after all. He was almost level with the treetops now; indeed, at this distance, it seemed that he must have been stepping on their crests. As the monster turned to face him once more he lifted his spear, holding it before him like a knight's lance. And as the huge, blunt claws of the virage swept toward him he ducked low and charged, blurring from green to grey under the cold moon.

"For the love of…!"

The spear drove the length of its blade into the soft tissues of the monster's face and the virage screamed, an ear-splitting shriek that was probably heard clearly the next continent over. But even as the sound was still echoing off of the distant mountains there came a second, smaller sound; a crackle in the air that was as good as lost in the repercussions of the first. For a moment the scene seemed frozen, cast in a surreal light. Then time reasserted itself and the dragoon was blasted away, caught at point-blank range by one of the blasts of raw energy that had so neatly burnt away a swath of fully-grown trees. 

I had started to my feet without realizing it; the dragoon arched backward and fell out of the air, disappearing amidst the trees to our right. For a moment it was still, save for the rumbling groans of the wounded virage. Then there was a brief flicker of emerald light, like the last flare of a torch caught in a gust of wind before it dies. 

Behind me Cai surged to his feet without warning. "Solana, _go_!" He barked. For all that he's supposed to be retired, he still hadn't lost his officer's bearing. Staggering over to the nearest tree trunk he set his elbow into a divide between two branches and with one, painful gasp popped his shoulder back into place. 

"Cai…"

He reached for the long knife that he kept sheathed at the back of his belt. "Get out of here Solana. There's nothing you can do."

"And there's something you can?" I felt like screaming at him for being so dense. "What are you going to do? Attack it with a knife! If you try that, then all you're going to do is get yourself flattened!"

Cai said nothing, starring over the treetops at the colossus looming overhead. 

For a moment I stood, caught in agonized indecision. And then I turned and ran- sprinting with all my might for the part of the forest where I'd seen the dragoon fall. Cai's shout of protest rose and fell behind me unnoticed, and I bulled my way through the undergrowth. There might not be anything that I could do for the fallen man, but if there was something, anything at all…

It wasn't difficult to find him, though the light from the flash had long since disappeared. His impact with the earth had plowed up more than a sizeable amount of soil, and as I climbed over a fallen branch toward the shapeless mound I tried not to think of how hard he must have struck. Gritting my teeth and bracing myself for what I knew I was about to see, I took a few cautious steps into the small clearing in which he lay. 

It could have been worse, but the sight still turned my stomach. The armor seemed to have protected his body from the worst of the impact, but his neck was caught on an impossible angle and eyes closed, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of his open mouth. That wasn't what had killed him however; a small hole, perhaps the size of my fist, was burnt through his chest.

I've never pretended to enjoy a sight such as this, so I don't feel in the least ashamed to admit that the sight sickened me. More than that tough, I felt a heavy cloud of dismay settling over me. The cries of the maddened virage still rang out across the night sky, and the forest floor trembled with his steps as he staggered about. Rian was dead; without the dragoon, there was nothing left for us but to flee or die. Choking back a dry sob, I started to turn away from the broken body. And that was when I saw it. 

It lay nestled in the earth some distance from Rian's body, shining gently in the weak moonlight. It was small, hardly larger than one of the big marbles that I'd seen the crown prince playing with a few weeks previously, but still much larger than any gemstone that I had ever seen. As I gazed at it the thing began to shine with a different light, a soft, misty green that pulsed and grew stronger with each passing second. Then, as the shine seemed to reach its zenith, the stone lifted silently out of the earth, drifting upward like a phantom. 

_What?_ I stared at the thing, not really registering its movement until it was hovering almost directly in front of me, still throbbing with that emerald light. As the light washed over me so did something else; a presence unlike any I had ever felt before, as gentle and protective as a father's touch, and at the same time infused with a towering will that would not, _could not_, be shaken. It brushed gently against me, and for a moment I felt myself relax in spite of myself. Then it was gone; leaving me standing alone and cold with the luminescent spirit. 

Apparently the spirit's awakening had not only caught my attention. Somewhere far above me the virage shrieked again, but the scream was no longer infused with pain. The forest floor started to shade and jump beneath my feet as it lumbered forward, smashing a path through the trees with its club-like arm. The spirit. Of course; the virage and the dragoon are ancient enemies of old. It was no surprise that it was the stone's presence that drew it in.

Almost at the same instant Cai burst into the clearing, gasping and panting. "Solana! What do you think you're…" he trailed off, green eyes widening as he took in the scene. For a moment there was only the crack and rumble of impending destruction as our eyes met, his pleading and mine defiant. Then, as the virage's blocky shoulders rose into view over the crests of the treetops I turned away.

Something had to be done, whether he liked it or not. 

_Soa protect me_. Steeling myself, I reached out and seized the hovering stone with one shaking hand. 

It burst joyously into life, the light brightening until the whole clearing had dissolved in a shower of green, leaving me alone suspended as the fantastic armor shimmered and consolidated over my trembling limbs. A moment later the light died away, leaving me crouched in the center of the clearing next to Rian's still corpse, the long pinions of my wings folded protectively over my body. Experimentally I flexed them, flaring them to their extent and beating the air tentatively once or twice. Then, once I was sure that I had all of my limbs defined from one another, I kicked off, spiraling crazily up through the latticed tree branches and into the open moonlight. 

No, I still hadn't completely come to accept what had happened, but I wasn't about to sit and brood about it while there were more pressing things at hand. In life you can do one of two things when confronted with something new; sit around and gape and gawk over it, or simply accept it for the moment and set the consideration aside for later. And while I usually prefer to think things over before I jump into them, I felt that I had already been pulled headfirst into the deep end of the pond. 

Leveling off some thirty feet above the treetops, I turned slowly, taking in everything around me. The mountains, a long blue-black shadow stretching away in the distance; the forest and the badland, both reaching out to meet the ocean in a sinuous line; the ocean itself, stretching away as far as the eye could hope to see, wave tops glittering in the moonlight. And of course the virage itself, which had stopped its wonton destruction of the forest to stare balefully up at me, Rian's spear protruding from the center of its triangular face. 

The attack came without warning; a thin bar of blazing white light lanced past my shoulder, leaving the air crackling with the scent of ozone. Heart hammering I rolled away, gliding in a broad circle around the monstrosity. It lashed out with its single arm, but twisting to follow my movement had sent it off balance and so the blow was clumsy and wildly off target. Backing off slowly, I watched as it followed. If I could draw it back toward the ocean, that should give anyone who might have been left in the area time to escape. 

Again it swiped at me and missed, obliterating the trunk of an ancient oak. I ducked, lifting one arm automatically to shield myself. Unlike Rian I had no weapon with which to defend myself. But if I could find away to bring out the power that came with the form, cast an offensive spell as opposed to Rian's defensive, I might have a chance. But only one. 

The eyes. Rian's spear had penetrated, but not quite deep enough to damage anything really vital. Rolling to avoid another burst of white energy, I found myself wishing or a blade or stake; anything that could possibly be long or sharp enough to finish the job. Unexpectedly, the spirit guiding me seemed to interpret that as a request for magic. Almost before I knew what I was doing I felt myself drawing the air into focus around my right arm, until the air itself seemed to have come alive and taken a material form.

It looked something like a jouster's lance, translucent green and composed of swirling blades of the living air. I stared at it for a moment, locking exactly how I'd done it into my mind for future reference, then leveled it with the beast's head; fourteen feet of focused cyclone, keening like high winds screaming though a mountain pass. Then dodging one last lumbering swipe I plunged forward, streaking for the monster's exposed face with my lance held out before me.

It wasn't much of a contest. The swirling air of the lance cut through the leathery skin like a hot knife through butter, and my impulsion carried the blow in so deep that nearly the full length of the shaft had sunk in before it burst out the other side. The virage stiffened, and then as my lance disappeared in a gust of wind, fell, not so much toppling over backwards as collapsing inward upon itself.

I hung in the air for a moment, watching incredulously as the monster crashed to the ground, the sound probably causing rockslides on nearby cliffs. Gradually I became aware of a leeching tiredness; the transformation was wearing off. Dropping back below the treeline, my feet had hardly touched the earth before the armor disappeared in a flash of light, leaving me alone and weak-kneed in the middle of the clearing, the world spinning slightly before my eyes. Taking a step backward, I felt my legs give out. Before I could slide to the ground however, someone caught me from behind and hoisted me gently back to my feet.

"Hold on there lass. Are you alright?"

Cai! I could have cried. Instead I turned and buried my head into his chest, trying to regulate my breathing, which was coming in short, hoarse, gasps. "You saw, didn't you?" Stupid question. How could he have not?

He stroked my hair, then held me out at arms length, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Solana…"

"We have to get out of here," I said. Reality was restoring itself slowly, and so was the realization of what would happen if the Temple discovered what had happened. "If anyone comes back…I mean…"

Cai, bless him, caught my meaning immediately. "There have to be some horses left around here somewhere. I'll see if I can't catch one or two of them. If we cut across country-" he winced at his words, but continued "-we should be able to reach Doneau without being seen. If we can catch a boat to Fueno, then you could stay out of sight for a while."

I shook my head, still unsure of what to do, but voiced my approval anyway. Cai embraced me once more, kissed me lightly on the forehead, then let me slide to the ground before dissolving into the darkness to search for horses. For a time I just sat, staring at the spirit that lay on the ground between my feet.

I wasn't sure what made me decide to run. If I returned to the city, then I could probably have my fortune made. But one thing I _did_ know was that I would never, _ever_ become a pet on a leash to the Moon Child. 

Ragnarok's POV:

Ropes and hawsers hissed overhead as the flapping sails were furled and tied by agile sailors, scurrying up and down the lines like spider monkeys. Still carried by the wind's momentum the schooner rode the crest of a long wave past the breakwater, a large man-made promontory constructed from timber and stone that jutted out partway across the mouth of Fueno's harbor. The wave died and the ship coasted slowly into the wharves, deckhands tossing lines to waiting hands on the dock. 

As the men between themselves wrestled the vessel into its berth Dart shook his head and sighed somewhat wistfully. In spite of the horrid conditions below the decks, I knew that he had enjoyed at least the sailing element of the two-week voyage. Zion the other hand stood next to him bouncing almost eagerly on the balls of his feet as he shifted his grip on the canvas bag that contained what remained of our gear. His face was haggard from frequent bouts of seasickness, but he looked much brighter than he had previously. In fact he looked so eager to get back on solid ground that I thought it a wonder that he hadn't simply abandoned ship and struck out for shore when we had first sighted land that morning.

"You already paid the captain, right?" Kaelin stood with her back to the rail, keeping a wary eye on a crew member innocently coiling lines nearby. Her saber was in full evidence now, swinging from the broad belt that she had picked up somewhere. Silver hoops jingled in her ears as she shook her head. "I don't want to have to deal with being tailed just because you didn't pay your debts in time."

"It's already been taken care of, Kaelin," Dart said mildly. "Just because you're a thief doesn't mean we're all dishonest."

"Ex-thief," she corrected ruefully. "Somehow I don't think that I'll have much time for that stuff anymore." She shrugged. "I wasn't making much off of it; taking things people worked for never really sat well with me anyhow."

"So why'd you do it?"

"Good question." She looked back over her shoulder at the dock. "It's a living of sorts, I guess."

Approval surged faintly through Dart's mind. /She's an odd one/

//Look who's talking. Just try to keep in mind who you are; let too much slip and they'd probably turn you in before you could turn around//

/I haven't said anything!/ Dart protested.

//No, but I'm warning you anyway. You tend to get too comfortable around those you find to be friends, and they aren't exactly the same as Garren and Nova//

/Whatever/

Further opportunity for argument was cut short as Zion seized one of the lines and, as the boat brushed up against the buffers, swung up onto the rail and leapt across the intervening space between the ship and the pier in one smooth movement. He stumbled slightly as he landed, and the sack went rolling across the planks. Ignoring the angry shouts of the dock workers, he brushed himself off and retrieved the bag. Grinning insolently to all present, he waved jauntily. "Well, are you coming or what?"

The kid certainly felt better without a pitching deck beneath his feet.

The gangplank thudded into place and we crossed over onto the wharf. Drawing away from the seamen, we made our way to the crowded street beyond. Sidestepping around a boy carrying a basket of fish, Dart pointed toward the stairs which led to the upper tier of the town. "There should be an inn somewhere up there. Book a room or two, but please don't break the bank, okay?"

"Why? Where're you going?" Zion had calmed down slightly, but the puckered scar pulling up one corner of his mouth gave him the expression of one perpetually amused. 

"Hotspring clinic." Dart replied gruffly. "Got to get this shoulder patched up properly."

Angling away from the pair, he paused to watch them climb the stairs. /You're right, I guess/ He admitted.

//All I'm saying is to watch yourself//

/I don't think you have to worry about that too much/ He chuckled to himself, starting to walk again. /The past couple centuries have pretty much pounded that into my head. But really…/

//Hm?// The clinic loomed before us, whitewashed sides bright in the noon sunlight.

/Neither of them pushes the issue as to why the cult wants me so badly. I don't think they've even asked as to whom messed up my shoulder/ Joining the short queue of people waiting to be admitted to the clinic, he followed the line into the shadows of the building while I thought on it.

//Maybe// Nothing more.

HAH! THE **_JADE_** IS A _GIRL_!

**Is hit with multiple objects- pointy and blunt alike**X.X+


	45. Meetings

IMPORTANT! A word of warning: FF.net hates my com at the moment. For some reason, it refuses to let me put in the double slashes around Ark's thoughts and double stars around actions. Also, near the end of the chapter there is a break from Zion's POV into something completely different. That bit is no longer in POV, and is dealing with something cmpletely different.

Sorry about all of this, I'm trying to fix it.

Sors: Don't worry, it's coming. I don't know when, exactly, but it's coming. -.- you people rush me! lol

Brutal: Reviews? It's nice to know how people think the chapters are turning out. Saves me the grief of worrying.

Magical Mage: Got me there. There _is_ a reason for Solana's rank and it was mentioned in passing in the last chapter, but I'm not sure that anyone picked up on it. I dunno. Maybe the Jade Dragoon just likes people who can boss people around.

SilverWing: I don't think I'll be making Dart actually become a physical monster, though I really, _really_ liked the particular concept for the monster that you suggested. This is because in truth the 'Black Monster' is really just a name people gave to Rose because they didn't know any better. Really there's no particular change involved, no special powers, so I think that I'll just leave it at that. Easier for me, if nothing else. Though if you don't mind, I might use the concept of the lycan/balroc/draconic thingy later on. T'would make for much fun. O.O Insert maniacal laughter here, since Shade is too lazy to do it herself

Oh! Random announcement: _I have a Deviantart account, and since I'm too lazy to create a website for myself, I've been posting art on there. Namely random Naruto fanart, but I am setting aside time to draw some proper line-art of the Black Legacies Cast. Dart's the only one finished and posted at the moment, but I also plan on creating some for Zion, Kaelin (already started), Solana, Soltrane, Garren, Nova, and any other characters/dragoons who worm their way into the story later. The account is listed as my homepage on my profile screen, so if you're the visual sort of person and want a more accurate version (my perception, at least) of the character, feel free to check it out._

Kaelin's POV:

The heavy smell of roasting meat hung in the air over the bazaar, rising from the open spit and roasting pit that was sunk into the cobbles at the near end of the square. Three sides of beef and several swine rotated slowly over the flames, dripping fat into the hot coals as they cooked. Supervised by a swarthy looking man with his hair shaved away from one side of his head a young girl ran back and forth along the line of meat, digging out handfuls of pepper from an earthenware jar and tossing it liberally over the beef. A hawker stood nearby, face ruddy from the heat of the flames, shouting to be heard over the noise of the bazaar.

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. The hawker really wasn't necessary: the scent alone was drawing people from clear across the crowded square. Regretfully I looked down at the crumbling pastry I held in my other hand. Most of the brown sugar had fallen off the top, and some of the sticky apple filling was leaking out of the side and dripping over my fingers. Wrinkling my nose, I stuffed the rest of it in my mouth. Why had I gone and spent the last of my coin on that sticky mess?

Wiping my sticky hand on my trousers, I stepped away from the wall against which I had been leaning and back into the crowd. Zion and Ry were both here somewhere; maybe I could sucker them into lending me some money. Zion, at least, shouldn't be too hard to find.

It was Mid-autumn, and the whole of Fueno was out in the streets for the Festival of the Harvest. This was in itself a bit of a paradox, because the only farms on the whole of the island are on the plateaus to the northeast, several hours away from the city itself. None the less the market was full, prices were outrageously high for extravagant foods, and beer was flowing like water wherever one looked. Shouldering my way perhaps a bit too forcefully through the crowd, I turned toward where the noise was loudest, cheers and rowdy yells riding over the racket from the rest of the crowd. Fueno wasn't known for its skill competitions, but they did offer prize money for the winners. Zion had been down there all day, enjoying himself immensely as he quite literally romped his way through the ranks. Since only blunted practice swords were allowed, he wasn't hampered by the fact that his knew sword was still in the forge in a nearby smithy.

The square was arranged like any other square around the world; hemmed in by storefronts and large houses, the exception being that the center was taken up by a large amphitheater. It was here that the contests were held, while a loud and mostly drunk audience cheered on the contestants from the benches arrayed around the stage.

Dodging around a pushcart heaped with vegetables, I slipped past a pair of hulking men and paused to scan the benches. It took a moment to locate Ry, sitting close to the stage and watching with a slightly bored expression as two farmers wrestled on the ground, swords lying forgotten on the ground in the heat of the moment.

He slid over to make room as I joined him. "Had enough?" He asked, frowning as a self-proclaimed referee tried to pull the two scuffling men apart, but only succeeded in getting both the men to beat him into insensibility before returning to their own tussle. "Zion's good for one more round, so we may as well stay through to the end."

"What do you mean, 'good for one more round'?" I asked, sitting next to him.

Ry shrugged. "He's got a limp pretty bad in one leg and his good eye's so puffed up that he probably can't see through it, but he thinks he's good for one more round at least."

"Idiot. Why doesn't he use a potion?"

"Against the rules, I guess." Ry scratched his ear. "Oh well. If he splatters himself this round, we can always scrape him up and lug him off to the clinic."

_Men!_ I stretched, watching as both the wrestlers were dragged unconscious from the stage. "What about you? I thought that since your arm's healed, you'd be all over something like this."

The roar of the crowd drowned Ry's reply out as the final two contestants clambered up onto the stage to square off. Zion, it appeared, had won himself something of a following in the audience. Bowing and flourishing outrageously with his rather battered looking wooden sword, he took up a long stance in the center of the ring, sword resting against his shoulder. His opponent came into the ring more slowly, his jaw set in a grim line. He obviously wasn't pleased with the match-up, but he held the sword with the ease of one who knew it well and there was no hesitation as he stepped up.

I frowned. It was an odd match; whereas Zion was tall and almost rangy, this man was short and compact, with silvering hair shaved close to his skull. A blue ink tattoo was stretched across one cheek: after straining my eyes for a moment, I gave a low whistle. "Crap. Zion might be in trouble."

"Huh?" Ry took his eyes away from the ring long enough to look at me. "What do you mean?"

"His opponent; see that tattoo?"

He squinted. "A stag?"

"It's the White Heart," I explained. "The crest of the ruling family of Millie Seseau. That man… he must have been a member of the imperial guard at some point."

Ry sat back. "Whoops. Zion probably wouldn't know that then, would he? May as well just watch. Worst that'll happen will be that he gets a quick lesson in humility."

"I could stand to see that."

The referee came to the center of the ring, looked nervously between the two, then dropped a red handkerchief and dove off the stage before it had hit the ground. Which was for the better; almost as soon as the cloth had begun to fall Zion lunged forward, bringing the wooden sword down hard with a vast overhand swing. Somehow the other man blocked it; with a rattle the two sticks slid apart and clashed again as the pair lurched and whirled at each other, swords thrumming as they blurred through the air.

Zion had started out strong, but he was losing ground fast now; with his good eye almost completely swollen shut he had to depend on his scarred eye, which he found difficult to open more than halfway at the best of times. His breath was coming short too; next to me on the bench Ry shook his head. "He's pushing his limit. This'll be the sixth time he's gone up there this afternoon."

"What?" I took my eyes off the fight momentarily to glance at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he's not one to hold back. He's been fighting all out today, and without healing potions to refresh himself, he's had no way to regain any of his energy." Ry shook his head. "Unless I'm wrong, he's fighting pretty much on his last legs." He said grimly. "He shouldn't be pushing himself this hard."

Looking back up at the stage again, Zion did seem to be holding his own in spite of his waning energy. He had backed the other man almost into a corner, holding his wooden sword in both hands as he drove in at his opponent, trying to find an opening. And yet each strike, no matter how much force was behind it was turned deftly aside with light parries, never finding their mark. His opponent wielded his stave deftly, using quick, flicking movements similar to how I'd handle a saber or rapier. By now he was breathing heavily as well, but he was untouched by Zion's questing weapon. For a time this continued, neither finding an opening nor offering one.

It was then that Zion made his mistake; in truth it was so small that it was all but impossible to see. One slash at chest height, just a fraction too far out to recover in time, and grey-head struck, kicking him viciously in the stomach and driving the butt of his weapon into Zion's shoulder. Forced completely around by the power of the blow, Zion's back was exposed. Not one to miss the advantage, the other man grimly shifted his grip on his pole and struck.

Involuntarily I gagged. The sharp _crack_ of the stave splintering over Zion's back could be heard quite clearly over the sounds of the bazaar, and his scream even above that. Dropping to the boards he curled instinctively, hands clutching at his ribcage as he flinched back instinctively from the next blow.

Whether the man was even planning on striking again we never found out. Abruptly Ry was there between them, ominously drawing his sword. A nervous titter ran through the half-drunk crowd; wooden swords were one thing, but steel was a different matter altogether. On the platform grey-head took a step back, uncertain.

Ry lowered his sword slightly, but every eye followed it nervously. "That is enough," he said firmly. "This match is over. Kaelin?"

I started, then got to my feet, scrambling over the benches and up onto the platform. Zion looked even worse close up; the skin around his eye was swollen and broken and blood colored his mouth, dripping down his chin. Uttering a mild oath I dug into the pocket of my vest for a vial of healing potion.

Grey-head watched us for a moment, then turned his eyes back to Ry. "The young man put up a good fight," he admitted grudgingly. "My name is Mychael. Might I inquire as to his?"

"I don't think I'll extend the courtesy, seeing how you've treated him," Ry said coldly. As the referee climbed nervously back onto the stage, holding the broad bladed knife I assumed was the prize, he gestured in his direction. "Take your trinket and go. You've done enough here already."

Zion groaned and sat up, wiping the blood from his chin. Pushing the stopper back into the neck of the bottle, I tucked the healing potion back into my vest and helped him to his feet. Mychael took the knife from the referee without looking at him, his eyes shifting back and forth between Zion and Ry, measuring, remembering. The moment stretched; then Ry stepped smoothly between Zion and Mychael. "Go, Mychael. I'm sure someone else would like to take a turn. Unless, of course," he added, "you'd like to fight me?"

Mychael looked away, shoving the knife into his belt. "No, I think I'm about done for the day. Now if you'll excuse me, sirs." Passing his broken and splintered pole to the referee, he swung down off of the stage and disappeared into the crowd.

Ry watched him go, then sheathed his sword and turned around. "Are you okay?"

Zion grimaced, prodding a foot long splinter on the deck with the toe of his boot. "I'll be fine. Jeez, what made that guy think he had reason to break that thing over my back?"

"Who knows?" I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the edge of the stage. "Come on, let's move. We're holding up the show."

A few minutes later we stood in the mouth of an alley, out of the way of the flow of the crowd. Ry leaned against the whitewashed wall behind him, expressions flicking across his face as he stared at the wall opposite him, lost in thought. Chewing on a lock of hair I watched him with some interest. He frequently was like this; one moment active and in charge, the next withdrawn and pensive. He had seemed slightly disturbed by Mychael; immediately the three of us had gotten away from the stage he had retreated into his thoughts, leaving us to find an out of the way place to stand.

Zion sat a little farther back on an overturned barrel. He had taken out his spirit and was rolling it around in his fingers, humming absently to himself as he watched the light from the sinking sun play in its depths. Irrationally I was reminded of my brother Shane, always singing children's nonsense songs when he was concentrating on something else. Shane was odd like that: you could never actually tell whether he was paying attention to you or not.

At last Ry moved, or at least seemed to stir from his reverie. "I guess it can't be helped," he muttered, more to himself, I got the feeling, than to either of us.

"What?"

"Huh?" He lifted his head. "Did I say that out loud?"

"You spend too much of your time thinking, Ry." I complained. "Talk once in a while, would you? You're better off getting a second opinion besides your own, you know."

"Perhaps," he admitted, cracking the faintest ghost of a smile. After a moment the grin widened, and he rubbed his hands together briskly. "Right then." He raised his voice slightly. "You know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that we get back to the inn and get some food before the innkeeper decides to rent our rooms out to someone else."

Somehow I doubted that that was the case, but what he seemed to be implying was right. Whatever it was, an alley probably wasn't the best place to discuss it. Turning to go, I had almost reached the mouth of the alley when Zion's voice pulled me up short.

"Uh, guys? Are these supposed to do this on their own?"

**Ragnarok's POV:**

Dart spun around to look at Zion, confirming with his eyes what I had already felt a bare moment before. The red-eye spirit was flaring brightly, beams of the sullen red light streaming through Zion's tightly clasped fingers. Behind us Kaelin's hand dove into her shirt, pulling out her own spirit which was reacting similarly to its counterpart.

I suppressed the urge to crow with glee.

/Another spirit?/

It has to be. They must have just arrived in the port

/Cultists/ Dart snorted. /Well in any case, we're going to have to head this off early. If that Mychael really did recognize Zion, then he might run straight to the cult to report him and collect the bounty/

I told you that you should have challenged him. No one would have thought anything of it if you knocked him out in a fight

/No, but they'd remember me. It's bad enough that Zion had to go and get himself involved before I could stop him/

"Ry?" Kaelin was shaking his shoulder. "Ry! What's the matter?"

"Another spirit," he mumbled distractedly, his mind still focusing on our conversation. /This isn't good, Ark. If any word gets back to Ayrel as to where we are…/

I know. Dart, talk to the children. They look as though they think you just passed out on your feet

/This is all your fault you know?/ He grumbled, shaking himself from his apparent 'daze'.

Now why would you think that?I replied mildly, but his mind was already back on the other conversation.

Waving off Kaelin, he shook his head. "Sorry. I'm… just a bit tired. It's been a long day."

"You sure you're alright?" Zion asked cautiously. "Are you sure you aren't sick or something? You're always zoning out like that; it's starting to freak me out."

"I've been in the hot springs almost every day for the past two weeks," he snapped. "How could I be sick? I told you, I'm just a bit tired is all. Now quick, tuck those spirits away before someone notices them." He sighed rubbing his forehead.

"What's put you in a mood all of a sudden?" Kaelin asked sourly. Binding her spirit in cloth to mute the glow, she slipped it into a pocket. "And what was that you said about another spirit?" She glanced nervously at Zion, who had backed of a short distance after Dart's initial outburst. He'd traveled with Dart longer than Kaelin had, and was distinctly wary of his 'temper'.

He stepped forward now, his expression suddenly intent. "One of the temple's dragoons?"

Dart hesitated, then nodded. "It has to be." Reaching down, he plucked at the belt loose-slung around his waist. "I have the rest of them here."

Zion nodded slowly. "So we need to find them then, right? How do we know them when we see them?"

"I don't think we'll have any trouble there," Kaelin said sourly, trying to conceal the glow from her spirit in the folds of her clothes. "If their spirit is responding anything like ours, then they should be lit up like a lamp."

Despite Kaelin's observation, were it not for the persistent pull of the unseen spirit, finding our quarry could have proved quite difficult. Fueno is built along the shore of the harbor rather than extending inland, and as a consequence the city's waterfront is extensive. Lined with quays and docks, the harbor crowded with moored ships and docked cargo barges, it could have taken us days to track the bearer down. But like a beacon it called out to the other spirits, and Dart at least, if not the others, was able to use it as a guide through the maze of humanity. Normally this wouldn't have been something the spirit would have allowed him to do; even with my own tampering the pull of the spirit was general, guiding us in the broadest sense of the direction. As we drew closer the feeling became increasingly unfocused, until at last it seemed that they must be all around us.

/They don't seem to be moving around very much/ Dart noted as a cart loaded with crates and furniture rattled past, sending up a wave of mud as it splashed through a puddle. /They must not know their way around very well/

Or they're trying to hideI said grimly, scanning our surroundings. The waterfront was like any waterfront you'd find world over: busy, crowded, and littered with taverns and smelling quite heavily of the day's catch. The ships were no longer moving in and out of port; what little of the water that could be seen rippling between the hulls of the moored ships was an oily orange, mirroring the colors of the sky with ever-shifting fluidity. Sailors and porters stalked by, weighted down with heavy burdens as they shifted cargo from stacks set at the ends of the wharves.

Kaelin and Zion were nearby, though out of sight. They wandered along either side of the street a discreet distance behind us, waiting for Dart to give some indication that we were drawing close. Now and then Zion's head was visible over the mass of the crowd but Kaelin had disappeared from sight entirely, indistinguishable from those around her.

As another wagon rattled past Dart grabbed the rail and swung up onto the open back, legs hanging over the lip as the cart continued to rattle and bounce along. The driver, oblivious to his unwanted passenger, hunkered over the reins of his mule without turning around. Slumping up against a lumpy sack that smelled heavily of turnips, Dart leaned back and closed his eyes.

/Jeez, I'm tired/

Are we getting closer?

/I can't really tell. With some luck it should focus somewhat/

Yeah, when we're right on top of themI snorted. There has to be a faster way to do this

/Well if you don't know of any, then I most certainly haven't the faintest clue/ He opened his eyes briefly, then shut them again. /Maybe if we sent Kaelin and Zion into some of the shops we'd have better luck than just roaming around the streets/

Perhaps. Do you have any particular plan of where to go from here?

/Not really. Furni, maybe. There's a fair chance that we'll find more bearers if we keep traveling around the ports, I think/

What about Ayrel?I asked.

/What about her?/ Dart said, trying to sound nonchalant. /As long as she doesn't come hunting us, I think we're in pretty good shape. Besides, I think I want to try and keep those two clear of her for as long as possible/

They're going to have to find out sooner or later

/I know. But not yet/ It was almost a plea.

Dart, you're going to have to…what is it?I changed subject mid-sentence as Dart sat up suddenly, eyes fixed on one of the shop fronts nearby. A moment later I felt it; with a jerk that skewed my 'vision' the pull of the spirit came abruptly into focus as two people stepped hurriedly through the doorway that Dart had his eyes fixed so avidly upon.

"There," he breathed, pushing himself up and following the two as they merged into the flow of the crowd. Grabbing the rail of the wagon he vaulted over the edge, landing in the midst of a crowd of startled children.

/Where're Kaelin and Zion?/ He asked, his stride unhurried though his eyes never left the taller of the two, a sandy haired man with a battered canvas sack slung over his shoulder.

They're comingZion was at least, ducking and scrambling to get through the crowd. Kaelin was no where in sight, as invisible as a thief. At least that was what I hoped and that she hadn't ducked off to grab a drink somewhere.

Here and there boys were clambering up the wooden posts that held the streetlights, smoking wands of wood clamped in their teeth to light the wicks of the tallow candles. The crowd had begun to thin as workers headed home or to the taverns, eager to join in the rowdier end of the day's festivities. The couple we followed moved quickly and tensely, wanting to get clear of the crowd, turning down a side street that led away from the heart of the activity. Unfazed, Dart followed, the ragged hem of his coat flapping around his legs as he turned quickly down the street after them.

It was much quieter here. Long shadows slid across the cobbles, the high buildings sheltering it from the fading sunlight. A stone mason was coming toward us pushing an empty barrow that wobbled and squealed as he went, haggard and tired looking after a day of work. Keeping well out of his way, Dart tucked his hands into his pockets and continued walking. Up ahead the couple had stopped, the tall man stooped over the smaller, whom I could now see was a woman. They were dressed in faded travelling cloaks and dusty looking finery, and while neither was armed that I could see, the man had the bearing of a fighter.

I think we just found our manI murmured as we approached.

/They don't look much like cultists/ Dart commented.

They don't have to look it to be it

/You don't need to tell me that. I was just stating the obvious/

Don't. That's one of the first signs of a softening mind

/I thought that was talking to yourself/ Dart mused. Pushing his hands deeper into his pockets, he put on a distant look as he passed the two, keeping his eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance. /Where's Zion?/

I checked quickly behind, then turned my attention back to the pair. He's at the end of the street. I don't see Kaelin anywhereI replied. The woman was watching us suspiciously out of the corner of her eyes; her cloak twitched slightly as she tucked something into her shirt. It's the girl, Dart. She has the spirit

/Which one?/ Dart asked sharply. Passing them he reached the end of the street and turned left. After a few steps he stopped and turned around, leaning against the wall.

How should I know? She had it hidden. It must be reacting though, otherwise they'd probably be sticking to the main street

/Hopefully/ Pulling his hands from his pockets, he took a quick look up and down the street. It met up with the second one in a T-shaped intersection, so while it was impossible to see anyone on the other street, unless they turned around and traveled back the way from which they had come, they would be walking directly past us. /Now let's just hope that Zion has at least some idea of what's going on/

Whether he did or not I wasn't sure, but apparently the man at least had had enough of strange people wandering up and down the street. He stepped into view, still talking back over his shoulder to the girl as he came around the corner.

"Look Lass, there's not a whole lot that we can do about this now. We may as well just find a roof to put ourselves up under for the night and sleep on it." Turning around he stopped abruptly as Dart, thumbs hooked in his belt and coat thrown back to expose the hilt of his sword, stepped smoothly from the wall to block his path.

"Cai? What are you…?" The woman, a petite beauty with hundreds of tiny red-blonde pleats spilling out from beneath the hood of her cloak, stopped just short of running into the man's back. Taking in the situation at a glance, she took a step back, her eyes fixed on Dart. "Who are you?"

Dart didn't move. "That's rather impolite, don't you think?" He shook his head. "Demanding someone else's name before introducing yourself first? Tsk, what manners they're teaching today. On the other hand, I could be asking you the same question."

"What do you want?" The man, Cai, took a step back also, stretching out one arm to protect the woman.

"That depends on what it is you want."

My, aren't we cryptic today

/Hey, shut up. I'm allowed to have some fun, aren't I?/

Theatrics aren't your thing Dart. Leave them to Garren

Cai reached behind his back; judging from his posture, he had his hand on a knife. "Look, I'm not warning you again. Shove off and let us be."

Somewhere in the distance there was a popping sound, and then another. A moment later there was an explosion of light in the purple-blue sky above, fingers of orange streaking off in all directions. Fireworks; the night's festival must have been kicking off.

As the light from the firework faded, Dart allowed himself a tired sigh. "I'm afraid I can't do that, mister. Not until I know what it is that you're about."

"What's that supposed to-" he spun around as Zion emerged out of the gloom behind them, giving Dart an odd look as he did so.

"Don't let them leave!" Dart barked. Cai stepped sideways, pulling the woman after him, but after a few steps he ran up against the wall on the other side of the street. Turning to face again he squared off, passing the knife to the woman and raising his fists. "They're the ones we want."

Cai glared at him, but his lips moved slightly as he muttered something to the woman. Then as Zion took a cautious step forward he bristled, raising his voice. "Don't you come any closer, unless you relish the idea of havin' your- Solana!"

The woman, Solana, darted out from behind him with her belt knife held low, lunging at Dart with a surprising turn of speed. Almost casually Dart sidestepped her thrust, snatching her wrist and wrenching it around behind her back as she passed, bringing her up short. The knife fell to the stones with a clatter and was kicked away; locking her other arm, Dart grimly held her close while she struggled and shouted.

Cai snarled and leaped at Zion, who was already moving to intercept him. It was a noble effort; Cai wasn't a small man by any means, and against any lesser man it may have worked. Unfortunately for him, you don't spend five years wielding a five and a half-foot greatsword without building up a considerable amount of muscle. Zion simply plowed through him, slamming Cai against the brick wall and pinning him there with his shoulders. Cai , the wind knocked completely from him, hung stunned, gasping for breath.

"Thank you," Dart called to Zion through gritted teeth. Solana, thrashing in his grip, managed to land a solid kick across his shins, and they throbbed as he struggled to hold her without hurting her.

"Let him go!" She cried, trying to land another kick. "Let him go! Do it, or I swear I'll…!" She trailed off, her struggles ceasing and a look of concentration spreading across her face.

Dart swore. /She's going to try to transform/

But nothing happened. Long seconds passed and she opened her eyes again, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps. "Wha…no! What happened!" She cried, going limp in Dart's grip.

"Looking for this?"

Surprised, Dart twisted around as best he could. Kaelin stood a few steps behind him, rolling the jade dragoon spirit back and forth across the knuckles of one hand. "Kaelin?" He asked incredulously. "When in the name of…glad you decided to show up."

She shrugged, tossing the spirit into the air and catching it with her other hand as it fell. "It fell out of my Lady's cloak while she was trying to kick you in the knee." She peered closely at first the stone, then shifted her gaze to Solana. "Well, this is what we came here for, right? So what now?"

"No!" Solana gasped, starting to thrash again even more frantically than before. "I won't! I'm not going to be a dog on a leash for your bloody Moon Child!"

/What?/ Stunned, Dart let her go. She stumbled forward, falling to her knees in surprise.

What the hell did you do that for! Grab her!

Kaelin though, was faster. Tucking the jade spirit away she slipped nimbly past Dart and grabbed the other woman by the back of the neck. Ignoring Cai's enraged cry, she twisted Solana around until she was facing her. "Do you mean to tell us," she said slowly, "that you're not with the Temples?"

"No!" She spat, glaring defiantly back.

Kaelin said nothing. In fact, for a good minute or two no one said anything; the only sounds were that of Solana's heavy breathing and the sporadic burst of fireworks overhead.

At last Dart stirred. "Let them go."

"What?" Zion swiveled his head around to look at him.

"You heard the Lady: they aren't with the temples." Dart sounded tired, but I could feel the happiness this statement brought flitting through him like a songbird.

You sound relieved

/Of course I'm relieved/ In spite of his words, Dart loosened his sword in its sheath as Zion slowly let Cai down. Stooping, he retrieved Solana's knife from where it had fallen. While Kaelin helped Solana to her feet and Cai watched Zion mistrustfully, he turned it over in his hands, testing the edge against his thumb. "You're not with the temples, then. So who are you?"

"We could be asking the same thing about you." Taking Solana by the elbow, Cai turned so that he could keep his eyes on all three of us at once. "What do you want?"

"Want?" Zion shook his head slowly. "Nothing. We were afraid you had been sent by the temple."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Solana held out her hand to Kaelin. "If you'd please, could I have back my…stone?"

"What, this?" Like magic the stone was in Kaelin's hands, rolling back and forth over her knuckles. Taking it between two fingers she held it up and peered at it in the light of another firework. "You should really take better care of your valuables Lady. I'm better than the common pickpocket, but if things just start to fall out of your pockets than anyone could pick them up." With a flick of her fingers she tossed it back into Solana's waiting hand.

"Well I…" Solana trailed off, looking dumbly first from one face, then to the next. Finally she drew her cloak closer around her, reaching for the man's arm. "Come on Cai. We don't want to be out here all night." With a quick, nervous nod of thanks to Kaelin, she turned and started to walk hurriedly away, her husband trailing her.

Dart!

"Don't you find it strange, Lady Solana," Dart called after her, "that the moment we came your spirit stopped flaring?" He pushed his sword the rest of the way into the sheath and folded his arms over his chest.

Solana stopped abruptly and spun around to face us. "Who are you?" She demanded, her hand automatically closing tighter around the spirit. "Who are you, and what do you want with us?"

Just end this Dart. We should be heading back soon, before someone notices and thinks we're terrorizing the child

By way of response, Dart pushed back his coat so that the carrier belt was in full evidence. "Zion, Kaelin? Would you do the honors?"

Cai swore softly as Kaelin and Zion produced their spirits, the glow muted so as not to be so easily noticed. When Solana's spirit burst into emerald light in response with a soft cry from its master, Zion grinned. "I'm sure you'd understand if we said the temples had no particular love for us either."

**Zion's POV:**

I leaned back against the overstuffed back of the armchair, my bottom sliding slightly on the horsehair cover as I did so. Kaelin sat on one of the arms, her feet propped against the end of the bed while Ry stood by the window, leaning on the sill. Solana and Cai sat on the bed, the former cupping a mug of mulled wine from the inn's kitchens in her hands. She stared at the floor, absently sipping at her drink from time to time, waiting for Ry to digest what she'd told us. To be honest I wasn't all that surprised when they had followed us back to the inn, but the fact that Solana knew apparently next to nothing about dragoons surprised me. Apparently she hadn't used her spirit again since fleeing Tiberoa, so really had no more than the vaguest impression of how to truly put it to use. Even Kaelin, who was now busily wiping the blade of her saber with a rag, had found time during our stay in Fueno to venture out into the countryside and get some experience with her spirit.

Ry stared at a point some six feet beyond the wall, lost in thought. Ultimately the choice was his, but I honestly didn't see what other choices there were. Solana was a dragoon; it was as simple as that. She wanted to stay out of reach of the temples, and we needed to gather the rest of the spirits. What bothered me was her apparent lack of fighting experience. Why would a spirit choose someone who wasn't much with a weapon as its bearer? I'd have to ask Ry about it later; in any case, it didn't seem to faze him overly much.

Solana took another sip of the wine, more to cover the silence, I thought, than out of any real thirst. "So…if I go with you, what then?" She asked, starring into the depths of the steaming liquid.

Ry blinked, coming out of his stupor. "Huh?"

"Why? To what purpose?"

Kaelin snorted, and gave her blade a vicious swipe with her rag. "I've been wondering the same thing. Y'know Ry, we've been trundling around with you for a good few weeks now, and I hardly know more now than when I started out in the first place." She dropped the rag and set her saber on the floor, giving him a very direct look. "Up until now I've been content, if only because you seem to know how to stay out of the temple's radar. But the lady here-"

"Please, just call me Solana."

"-Solana," Kaelin corrected, "raises a good point. What is it exactly that you plan on doing once you gather all of us? What's the point? I mean, you're not even a dragoon yourself." She hesitated, and then posed the question. "Are you?"

"If I were, what reason would I have for hiding it from you?" He replied dryly, then laughed mirthlessly. The spirits on the carrier belt gleamed dully and unresponsive in the lamplight. No, none of them were his.

"So why then?" He had our full attention now. Turning away, he glanced out the window.

"I…I'm not entirely sure." He admitted slowly. "The spirits have been as good as dormant for hundreds of years now, and thousands before even that. And now it seems that everywhere I turn there's another bearer. These things don't happen without a reason." He rubbed his forehead, then pulled off the red bandana that held the hair back from his face. Unrestrained his hair flopped over his eyes; unconsciously he brushed it away. "Something's happening," he said finally, "something big. If it should come to pass, then it could well eclipse any cataclysm this world has ever seen. If it should, I don't honestly see anyway to fight it. But for the moment…" he held up his hand, thumb and index finger a few inches apart. "It's still small. And for as long as it's small, there's still a fighting chance. Honestly if I could I'd take this on myself alone but…" he turned around, offering a small smile. "It seems that fate, for once, is playing in my favor."

"Ry…" I started, but before I could say anymore, he clapped his hands together briskly and started again.

"Right then. Solana, take your time deciding. We aren't going anywhere in a hurry just yet, so think it over. There's another room down the hall that should be vacant; talk to the innkeeper about that. It's a bit small in here for five people," he added a bit ruefully, looking around at the two beds and canvas cot on which we'd been sleeping the past few nights. Grabbing his sword from where it stood propped against the doorframe, he sheathed it and reached for the doorknob.

"Hey-" I started to my feet. "Where are you going?"

The door swung open. "I need some time to think. The springs are still open, I think." The door shut soundly behind him and we were left in silence, listening to the sound of his fading footsteps.

o

In the harbor a ship bobbed at anchor, the light streaming from its portholes reflecting on the inky surface of the water. It was a large vessel, and while its kind were often seen in this port, in almost any other it would have drawn awed looks and captured the imagination of any boy watching it from the quay. Two hundred meters from tip to stern and boasting a full array of cannons, _The Lancet_ was the fruit of a great many generations of steamships and the pride and joy of the Temple's small fleet. A dinghy had approached it sometime ago; now it returned to the shore, leaving one man behind on the deck of _The Lancet_.

Mychael, the White Heart tattoo stretched across one cheek, watched the dinghy's progress for a moment before turning his attention back to the two men standing at attention before him, light from the lanterns reflecting off the highly polished contours of their helms. "Here, one of you take my bag, would you? I picked up more stuff then I'd thought."

Surprisingly the dread knights did as they were bid, one springing forward to take the canvas sack while the other fell into step beside. "Commander Mychael? A pigeon came in while you were ashore." The knight offered up a thin paper tube, tied with a length of waxy twine. "I thought it would be best if you were to read it."

"Good man." Mychael took the tube, pulled off the twine and unrolled it, scanning through the message. After a moment he let it roll itself up again, tucking it into a pocket. "Has there been any messages from the Grand Commander as of yet?"

"No sir."

"Then it's my call," he mused, squinting up at the moon. "All right then. Tell the ship's captain to weigh anchor. We're heading for Doneau."

"My lord Commander?"

Mychael stopped. "Damnen's on shore, and so are the other two. Damnen and the girl wouldn't pose too much of a threat, but as long as the other one is around, we'd probably be best not to press matters. Besides, if what the lady Asalla suspects is true, then they shall be coming to Fletz next."

"Forgive me for asking, my Lord," the other man interrupted hesitantly, "but what makes you so certain? Uh…?" he trailed of as the commander dug out the message and pressed it into his hands. Noting the seal on the paper, he unrolled it and read it. "A dispatch from Captain Soltrane?" He exclaimed, looking up sharply. "You're trusting _that_ one-"

"Captain _Soltrane_," Mychael cut in, "has been entrusted to this by the Moon Child herself. If you have any objection to her choice, feel free to make tracks to Fletz and explain that to her. I'm not sure if she'll listen, but you'll make an absolutely splendid smear on the wall if she should."

"I… forgive me my Lord. I forgot my place."

"I should say so. You're lucky, Owen, that I'm much more understanding than the Moon Child is. As for Soltrane…" He turned to look out at the harbor, eyes far away as he watched the play of the town's light's on the waterfront. "I have absolute trust in the Captain's ability to handle the situation, as precarious as it could potentially be."

Ren said nothing to this, still smarting from the reprimand. Noting this, Mychael nodded approvingly. "Just keep this in mind, kid. For one reason or another, quite often the best of us never make it to the top. Soltrane has progressed as far through the ranks as will be allowed, unfortunately, but never for a minute think that that is an accurate measure of ability. Now, where did that lad run off to with my bag?"

A short time later _The Lancet _weighed anchor and steamed off into the night, leaving no evidence to show that it had ever visited port.

Don't take life for granted;

Don't let it pass you by

Make the best of what you can

From no task should you shy

Some short years is all we have

Before we're on our way

Take it to the fullest

Savor each and every day

Until the end has come at last

Let life not go to waste

It's the greatest gift we're given

So don't let it pass in haste

o

Dedicated in loving memory to Edward Snair

A great friend who was taken from us too soon

Remembered and treasured by all whom you touched

Peace be with you

1987-2004


	46. Worries

_-Shade stands in the corner of the library, putting the final, finishing touch on the last of shelf upon shelf of children's books. The floors are clean, the toys are piled neatly in their boxes, and at last- at long last- that infernal Arthur's Computer Adventure game with the repetitive, nerve grinding music has been turned off. Dusting off her hands on the rather worn-out knees of her jeans, she checks her watch.-_  
  
Shade: Hah! Finished, with a whole thirty seconds to spare.  
  
_-Grabs her cart and starts to drag it after her out the door. As she passes through the doorframe, however, a rush of hyperactive six-year-olds and one hysterical mother neatly stampedes her. Various crashes, thuds, and small, localized explosions ensue.-  
_  
Shade: _-Lying on her back, staring dazedly up at the ceiling_-...why me?  
  
Computer: Hi! My name's Arthur...  
  
Honestly, some days...  
  
Brutal2003: Soltrane's name was originally something like Coltrane, but I didn't really fit. So I changed it to 'Sol'. It doesn't have anything to do with trains at all, though I did notice the similarity.   
  
The Sharra: Reincarnated characters? I hadn't really given much thought to that sort of thing. Bah, you've got me thinking now though. -_Snickers and runs off to plot-_  
  
Chaos13: Yup! You guessed it. For Solana, at least. Kaelin isn't anyone's descendant in particular.  
  
Scorpio: Hmm...Dart's problem with wingly magic. Let me see if I can my reasoning behind it...Okay, right. It's sort of like an unnatural allergic reaction. Dragon magic and Wingly magic don't mix very well, and since Dart is carrying Ark around in his head, he feels the effects of certain spells and devices quite strongly. Some of them, anyway.  
  
Silverwing: Another love interest for Dart? Gah, to tell the truth, I haven't really been planning on it. Makes things a whole lot simpler for me when he just stays focused more or less on what he's doing. And seeing as I've already got the whole Nova/Garren thing going on (It'll be expanded on more in later chapters), I think that one love-side-story thingmabobber is enough to keep me busy. Yes, I know I'm lazy. Hit me. lol  
  
YSYF: Honestly, I didn't even realize that I've been doing that. To come to think of it, actually, I think Solana is the only one I've done that with. Most of the other characters meet and join or do whatever in the same chapter they're introduced. Except for Zion, I think it was. Bah. I don't know. It's just the way things have happened to turn out during the writing. The character I'm introducing this chapter should have some time on her own before the other dragoons catch up to her, though.  
  
  
  
**Asalla's POV:**  
  
The sea stretched away for as far as the eye could see, broken only occasionally by the breakers dashing themselves against the tail end of the Aquaria Coral reef. A lone sailboat skimmed over the white caps out near the extremes of my vision, propelled along by a heavy onshore wind. A few billowing clouds skated past on the wind currents high overhead, milk white with only a hint of grey underneath. There would be no rain over Tiberoa today, or for the rest of the week, in all probability. There rarely was, until the mild-cool temperatures of winter.  
  
I leaned back from the edge of the balcony, careful not to disturb any of the winding ivy that covered the top of the balustrade, spilling over the edge in a tangled mat of green leaves and tiny white flowers. Here and there, there was a splash of blue against the whites and greens; bluebell creepers that had interwoven themselves with the original vine until the two were virtually indistinguishable. The balcony itself was crisscrossed and veined by the latticed roots of the ivy, pushing through the cracked tiles and sinking into the overflowing flowerbed positioned against the wall. I had planted it my self during one of our early stays in Fletz some years previously. Tradition dictated that the towers of Fletz Palace were to be the residence of the Kingdom's heirs, but seeing as the only crown prince was hardly out of his infancy the Queen had offered the towers to us. Ayrel had declined, preferring to stay in one of the rooms in the palace, but I was grateful to be clear of the rush of palace life. Mathis had moved into here as well, though somewhat regretfully. The formalities of the court had grown on him, and often he was loath to leave them.  
  
I put one hand on the doorframe, looking out at the lonely tower opposite of my own with a gentle smile on my face. Boys and their little games.  
  
Inside the door I kicked off my slippers, pushing them against the doorjamb. There were no carpets here, much to Mathis's constant annoyance; I liked the feel of bare marble beneath my feet. The walls had been sheathed in marble too, through it was hidden here and there by pots of hanging flowers or silver embroidered silken star charts. Only the ceiling was not; some cunning artisan had fashioned the inside of the dome from thousands upon thousands of tiny tiles of mother of pearl so that it shone and danced like fire whenever light touched it. Even the most brutish of races could see that whoever inhabited it at the moment, it had been build for a princess.  
  
A tray of crystal decanters sat on the table at the far side of the room, a few thin slices of pale cheese set on a napkin next to it. House keeping had been and gone; were it not that I had sensed their entry I would not have known it. There were several winglies in the palace staff; none too strong or magically inclined, but the accuracy of their teleporting was unsurpassed. To the courtiers and other functionaries of the palace they were the perfect servants. Silent and swift, their apparent ability to appear out of thin air and then disappear in a similar manner made them exactly what the courtiers had dreamed of: all but invisible. By request we were served by one of them exclusively, a petite young woman whom everyone referred to as Betha. But in all the time that we had been here, I had hardly seen her for more than six seconds at a time.  
  
Pouring myself a goblet from one of the decanters, I walked back to the balcony, stopping at the arched doorway. Before our arrival there had been no doors to shut the circular room of the tower off from the balcony; in Tiberoa the weather seldom turned harsh enough for there to have been any need. Now two finely carved doors, paneled with blue-tinted glass, had been added at my request. Not for any discomfort caused by the weather, but because I felt anything was better than an open doorway to the sky.  
  
Sipping from the goblet, I tapped one finger absently against the bowl of the glass. I'll be the first to admit that I was worried. But then, I always grew worried when Dart and that accursed dragon were out of my sight. They had a habit of appearing unexpectedly where and when we least expected them, usually with disastrous results if we lingered for too long. But now...I took another sip, watching as a seabird soared up past the balcony, spiraling up on a thermal of hot air. Ayrel seemed confidant that if he did appear again she could handle him. Certainly after her match with him in the mountain village of Vista it seemed that she should. Even Mathis was enraptured by the idea, ecstatic at the thought of Dart being put down once and for all.  
  
Finishing the rest of my wine, I returned the goblet to the table. For all of their confidence, I still had my doubts. Dart was an experienced fighter; whatever tricks my daughter may have had to enhance her own abilities, she simply didn't know well how to handle a serious situation such as that the same way he did. The trick with the dragon buster would not work again, of that much I was sure. And then there was Garren. For all the people that we had sent out searching for him, no one had sighted him in years. To all appearances he had disappeared off the face of the known earth. I knew him too well to believe that he had just given up and returned to Ulara, but I also knew that it wasn't like him to lie low for so long without serious need. He hates it when he's not a part of the action. But at the same time, I didn't think that we'd have to worry about him appearing suddenly behind us looking for a fight. No, if Dart was still licking his wounds, then Garren almost certainly wouldn't appear until Dart was ready.  
  
So why was I so nervous?  
  
Our reports from Bale indicated that they had captured two possible dragoons a short time ago, but the two had escaped after the compound had come under attack. I had heard nothing of them since, but apparently the temple in Kazas was compiling a report on one of the two, a man who had lived in the town for many years and had something of a history with the temple. This was significant on its own, but it also had a grimmer outlook: the dragoons were beginning to rouse themselves again, and in spite of what the public had been led to believe, it certainly seemed that they would be rising against us. Even the one dragoon we had had was gone now, killed by something we hadn't been able to yet identify. His spirit had disappeared and there was no sure way to find out entirely what had happened, seeing as after the event many of the frightened nobles and courtiers had fled back to their estates, which ranged from as far away as Doneau to the Serdian borderlands. From time to time they filtered back into the city, but for the most part they stayed away, still too shell-shocked to venture out of their homes.  
  
A polite knock came at the door and I looked up. "Come in."  
  
Ayrel entered quietly, shutting the door behind her. Kicking off her slippers she pushed them against the wall next to mine before padding across the floor to me, the silk hem of her skirt swirling and brushing against her ankles as she walked. That was a surprise; Ayrel usually avoided skirts and such like the plague.  
  
"Problems, dear?" I asked mildly, reaching for the chalice and decanter as I did so. Not for myself, but it might help to calm her nerves if she were upset again. That happened fairly often of late.  
  
She snorted, stopping in front of me and plucking at the skirt with her fingertips. "You wouldn't happen to have any of my clothes lying around, would you? Just plain, normal clothes?" It was almost a plea.  
  
I nodded, pouring a glass and setting it back on the table again. Perhaps she wouldn't need it after all. "Over there in the wardrobe. I think I still have some of your older outfits hanging up in there."  
  
"Thank-you." Walking to the wardrobe she pulled it open and began to rummage through the contents. For a few minutes there was nothing aside from her mutters and the rustle of cloth. At last she straightened, pulling out a hanger that held a pair of rust-colored boy's breeches and a loose silk blouse. Stripping out of the skirt she kicked it across the floor; a moment later the shirt followed. Almost unconsciously I bent over, picking the skirt op and shaking out the wrinkles before looking at it critically. It was a pretty thing; ocean blue hemmed in ivory. Folding it up, I sat it on the bed next to me and reached for the shirt.  
  
"These are really quite nice, Ayrel. Whatever possessed you to wear them? People might start to realize that you're a girl." Folding the shirt, I set it on the bed next to the skirt and patted it down.  
  
"Please don't joke mother. It was the only way I could get that confounded woman to listen to me." Giving the breeches a final tug, she grabbed the blouse and pulled it over the head. In spite of my joke, Ayrel was rather impossible to mistake for anything but a girl. Over the past year or two she'd matured quite rapidly, and the boy's pants and blouses she preferred if anything only accentuated that, whatever she might have preferred.  
  
"Who? The Queen?" I reached for a piece of cheese from the tray.  
  
Ayrel snorted like a horse, tightening the laces of her blouse and turning around at last. "That woman's got about as much intellectual right to the throne as a painted turtle. The only reason the public hasn't gone into open rebellion as of yet is because her advisors have managed to keep her from making any seriously huge mistakes until now."  
  
"Do you mean the whole business with the dragoon? Is that what you wanted to talk to her about?"  
  
"Partly." Ayrel grimaced, throwing a glance at the neatly folded finery on the bed next to me. "Problem is, that woman won't even listen to me if I don't look like one of those over-dressed peacocks fluttering around the court father likes oh-so-much. I don't honestly think that she even has the brains to realize who I am."  
  
"I think that's going a bit far, dear. What are you going to do about it?" I nibbled on a bit of cheese, then set it back down. I wasn't all that hungry anyway.  
  
"What am I going to do? Nothing, that's what!" She said, tossing her hands in the air and pacing back and forth. "As brainless as she may be, I need her. Better a stupid queen who'll eventually do as you say than a clever one who'll try to supplant you."  
  
"I hardly think that anyone clever would try to supplant you, dear. It's slightly impossible. Now stop pacing. You're going to make me dizzy."  
  
"Only slightly." Automatically she stopped; staring without seeing at one of the star charts hung on the wall. "In any case, there's not much to do about it at the moment. Oh, by the way, we'll be staying here for a few more weeks yet."  
  
My stomach plummeted. Surely Dart must know where we were by now. Why give him time to prepare? "Why is that, dear?" I asked, keeping my thoughts from affecting my voice.  
  
"A dispatch came in by pigeon this morning," she said. Reaching out to the empty air in front of her she snapped her fingers, more for dramatic effect, I thought, than any real need. There was a small flash, and a thin scroll of waxy looking paper appeared out of empty air to drop into her hand. Involuntarily my eyes widened slightly; Ayrel grinned at my reaction. I let that pass: while I normally kept emotion from my features as much as possible, there was some justification to my surprise. Teleportation is in itself a rather basic art, but transporting objects rather than yourself by the will of your mind is an infinitely more difficult task, however backward that may seem. In fact the only person I had ever seen perform this task successfully was Charle Frahma, and even that was rare, never in excess.  
  
Ayrel was undoing the twine binding now; with great care she unrolled the crackling strip of paper. "It came from somewhere in Serdio," she was saying, "From one of the fishing villages along the coast." Holding it as though afraid that it might crumble in her hands, she passed it carefully to me to read. "Careful; I think it got a bit damp somewhere along the line. It's a little smudged, but you can still understand it."  
  
Holding the paper gingerly, I scanned through the message.  
  
_Bearer found three days ago in the farming village of Seles.  
Returning to Fletz with the North Wind. Voyage expected to  
last the week. Cutting though the Midlake river system to cut  
time. Commander requests full escort from Doneau port but  
does not anticipate any immediate danger. Bearer causes no  
trouble, but makes no move to co-operate either.  
  
A.S.  
_  
I scanned through the letter once or twice more, but there wasn't much to read. Letting the paper roll itself shut once again, I passed it back to my daughter, who took it and tucked it into her blouse. "Interesting," I commented. "The letter was dated almost a week ago."  
  
Ayrel dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "I sent off the escort as soon as I read the note. The Commander is right; I don't think they'll have any trouble, but it's probably better to be safe than sorry. In any case," she said seriously, "we need this White-Silver dragoon. The healing powers it offers alone will make up for the temporary loss of the Jade spirit."  
  
"Temporary?" I asked, brushing back my hair from my face. The balcony doors were still open and a healthy breeze was blowing through, carrying the heavy sent of the sea mixed with the gentler fragrance of my blossoms. One of the crystal wind chimes set near the door danced in the wind, filling the air with its musical tinkle.  
  
Amidst this Ayrel's smile seemed positively radiant. "I'm going to find it again mother. And then I'm going to find its bearer. Because if we have two, or even one dragoon, you know he'll come. He won't be able to resist it. That we possess the white-silver spirit is like a hot knife burning into his brain. He'll come, and when he does, I'll tear him down permanently."  
  
I looked away from her confidant smile, letting my eyes drop to the floor, following the cracks and veins running through the marble. Hubris. I'd come across the term several times while browsing through the literary texts in Ulara's vast library. Simply put, it meant pride: overweening, unshakable pride in oneself and one's abilities. In the great stories it was a common affliction among characters; so great was their pride that in the end it provided the means for their defeat. Was this what was afoot here?  
  
"Dear..." I started, then trailed off, not knowing how to continue. Ayrel gave me an odd look, her smile slipping somewhat. Steeling myself, I started over. I would not let something as petty as pride bring her down. "Are you sure you can?" I held up my hand as she opened her mouth, a look of indignation on her face. "I know you're strong, Ayrel. Soa, but I know how strong you are. But you have to realize that Dart is powerful too, and Ragnarok even more so. You won't be able to catch them off guard again like you did last time.  
  
"Don't confront him, Ayrel." A note of plea entered my voice as at last I voiced the fear that had plagued me for the past weeks. "You're not strong enough yet. Track him, trap him, but don't confront him without a trump at your back. He won't use the dragoons against you just yet Ayrel; Ragnarok's sense of vengeance won't allow him to. Find a way to trap him daughter, before he finds a way to trap y-"  
  
"Are you suggesting," Ayrel cut in coldly, "That we run, mother? Don't try to coddle me. I've run from him mother; we all did, for sixteen bloody years. And what good did that do?"  
  
"We survived!" I half-yelled, tears welling up in my eyes. It was all coming apart...  
  
"Yes. Yes we did. And how many people died because we ran? I'm sick of this, mother. I'm sick of running, and I'm sick of hiding. But most of all I'm sick to death of your doubt. Father believes in me; why can't you?"  
  
"Because sometimes your father can't see beyond the end of his own nose! He wants to believe that there's an easy way to end this, one that doesn't involve Garren appearing out of the darkness to beat him into oblivion!" The tears were flowing freely now, rolling down my reddened face in great, glistening streams. "Your father is even more afraid than I am; that's why he lets himself be fooled by his own made-up delusions! You can't bring him down Ayrel!"  
  
"I won't run!" Ayrel snapped, her silver eyes, so much like my own, hardening in resentment. "You're the one who's deluding yourself, mother! Not me, not father! You! Hide in your tower and cry and scream all you want, but you can't stop me! I'll destroy the Black Monster, mother, and while you weep the world will rejoice!" With one final, killing glare she disappeared in a flash of white-green light, her presence fading fast from the tower.  
  
My knees buckled beneath me. Unable to help myself I collapsed to the floor, hugging and clutching my skirts; weeping like a broken child .  
  
**Mariko's POV:**  
  
The ship's timbers groaned and sighed in the darkness; burrowing my head deeper into my pillow I pulled the quilts closer around me. The room was warm and dark, if it weren't for the gentle rocking I could have almost convinced myself that I was at home in my own bed instead of here in this floating prison. Sighing into the flannel of the down-stuffed pillow, I tried to let myself relax. Maybe they'd forget about me; maybe, if I was lucky, they wouldn't come to wake me up...but that was wishful thinking. I could hear footsteps even now coming down the hallway, pausing on the short stepladder leading up to my door.  
  
There was a polite knock followed by a slight pause before the door swung open. The room flooded with pale light, evaporating my wishful thoughts in an instant as I sat up, pulling the quilt around my shoulders. The cabin boy, carrying an oil lamp, crept into my room and set it on the bedside table, risking a quick glance at my face before tightening the bolts around the base of the lamp that would prevent it from falling and breaking in rough weather. Once he was finished he stood attentively off to one side, swaying slightly with the motion of the ship.  
  
"That'll do, Nate. Go and fetch some breakfast from cook." The speaker, a husky voiced woman in her early twenties, ducked though the doorway and took a speculative look at me. "Oatmeal with sugar, I think. And tell cook that if he tries to slip any of that greasy lard he calls pork into it I'll have his head on a pike."  
  
Nate bobbed his head in agreement and practically flew from the room, shutting the door hurriedly behind him as he left.  
  
The room wasn't very large, but it was more comfortable than the quarters enjoyed by the ship's crew. This was to say that I slept in a proper bed instead of a rough bunk and the room was sparsely furnished with a bedside table and a plain wooden stool. It was on this that the woman, who called herself Amaya, now sat, watching me curiously as I roused myself. She was some years younger than I was; though you couldn't discern it from her manner. She was dressed plainly in a loose sandy tunic and black breeches, all partially covered by the grey wool cloak she wore pinned about her neck. Her dark red hair was pulled back from her face in a long braid that fell nearly to her waist, and serious grey eyes peered out of a face framed by loose flyaway strands. She had been something of an attendant to me for most of the voyage, though really there was no need for it.  
  
I sat on the bed, the quilt pulled about my shoulders. Amaya had pulled back the wood slat covering the small porthole window, and now natural light spilled into the room, mingling with the honey-gold light of the lamp. The circular porthole had been filled with a thick, brine-covered piece of glass so no sea water might splash in, but provided enough of a view that I could make out the blurred outline of the coast sliding slowly by.  
  
Amaya cleared her throat slightly, following my gaze out the small window. "We left the river system late last night. The captain decided to chance it in the dark." She frowned slightly, as though she didn't entirely approve of the decision, but her brow smoothed as she continued. "There's a good wind behind us now. If the weather stays clear like this for much the rest of the voyage, we should be able to reach Doneau within a day or less. The captain says sundown, but I'm not entirely sure about that."  
  
I looked away. Doneau. So they were planning on taking me to Fletz after all. There hadn't been much said as to destinations until now. Swinging my feet out of bed and letting the quilt slide from my shoulders, I got up and fished a change of clothes out from the sack beneath the table. Pulling out a plain, woolen grey dress, I began to change while Amaya continued to gaze out the porthole.  
  
It had a week since we had left Seles, though after five days of sitting in my small quarters on the rocking, pitching ship it seemed much longer. A week and three days since Captain Soltrane of the Serdian Dread Knight corps had ridden into the village on a tired out mount and a small, mounted troop of dread knights trailing behind him.  
  
I'm not much of a scholar. To tell the truth, I've hardly picked up a book more than once or twice in my life. But I do listen to the old stories; I remember in the dim recesses of my youth sitting on my wingly father's knee, head against his chest while I listened to him tell me stories about the great wars and tales of the ages past. And so when the Captain came to me at last, offering a smooth, perfectly round pearl-like gemstone for my examination as he had to all others he had come across, I was rather taken aback when it burst into a blaze of light at my touch. Not so much by the light itself, perhaps, as by what I knew the light to signify.  
  
Almost before I knew it I was on horseback, riding north with the troop toward the coast of Ilissa Bay. Neither my mother nor I had had any say in the matter; it had all happened before I had had any time to think it over, to react... I had just finished dressing when there came a polite knock at the cabin door. Ducking outside briefly, Amaya returned carrying a tray holding a wooden bowl of oatmeal, a mug of water, and two reasonably fresh apples. She set them down on the table, selecting one of the apples for herself and polishing it on the front of her shirt.  
  
"Eat, my lady. My masters would not be pleased if you were to arrive on an empty stomach." She flashed me a quick grin before biting into her own apple.  
  
I ate mechanically, spooning the lumpy mess of oatmeal into my mouth quickly, before it became cold. The water was lukewarm and slightly stale from being stored in a wooden barrel, but I drank this even faster than the porridge. Taking the apple, I got to my feet again, brushing past Amaya to look out the porthole window and watch the coast slide by. After staring for a few long moments I gave her a questioning glance, even though I already knew what the response would be.  
  
Amaya, I had soon discovered, was surprisingly adept at reading people from their expressions. It was not as clear as words, perhaps, but in my case it was the best that I could hope for. She was shaking her head now, apologetically. "I'm sorry, but the captain gave orders that you weren't to be allowed on the deck. It's rather messy up there anyway at the moment, I guess. They had some problems with the rigging last night; it got caught in the trees while the were fording the river and part of the sail was torn."  
  
I nodded, then looked away. I wasn't sure why I bothered...well, asking wasn't quite the word for it. I haven't always been a mute. When I was younger I used to be able to talk very well. But I was struck with sickness a short time after my tenth birthday and addition to being temporarily robbed of my eyesight while recovering, I lost my voice as well. And while my vision had eventually returned as good as ever, I had never regained my ability to speak completely aside from a few weak sounds. And while this doesn't bother me usually, there are times when I feel the loss most acutely.  
  
Amaya remained with me for the better part of the day, disappearing up on deck as we drew nearer to the port. She would be going ashore with her masters, and needed time to help them prepare. And unless she would be traveling with us, which was unlikely, this would probably be the last that I would see of her. Brooding, I took to lying apathetically on my cot, staring up at the ceiling. It seemed that there were no longer any constants in my life, save for that everything was slipping away.  
  
I must have fallen asleep, because when I next opened my eyes my lamp had burnt out and the cabin was dim. A thick bar of light streamed through the glass pane of the window, illuminating the patch of floor it fell upon with the red-gold light of sunset. Small motes of dust were swirling there, only visible when they entered the path of the light. Lying on my back I watched them, idly wondering when was the last time the cabin had been given a really good cleaning.  
  
A knock came at the door. I half-sat up, expecting to see Amaya, but was met with disappointment as the shy face of the cabin boy poked into the room.  
  
"We jus' arrived in port, Lady," he said cautiously. "Captain Soltrane requests that you gather your stuff an' come up on deck. E' said that the escort's ready and waiting." He slid the rest of the way into the room, keeping against the far wall and watching me with the same cautious expression.  
  
I took a deep breath and sat the rest of the way up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and getting to my feet. There wasn't much to pack, save for a few stray items of mine that had found their way out of my bag and into various corner of my room. I retrieved these, stuffing them into the knit sack along with the rest of my clothes and the few possessions that I had been permitted to bring. Wordlessly the boy handed me a thin grey cloak, hardly thicker than a bed sheet, to drape over my shoulders, fastening it at my throat with a plain silver clip. Hefting my bag, I slung it back over my shoulder and pushed my pale hair back from my face.  
  
When the boy seemed sure that I was finished and ready, he opened the door again and led me out into the narrow hallway beyond. Walking along the passage I realized that the boat was still rocking slightly with the motions of the waves; we must have moored in the harbor instead of drawing up to a wharf.  
  
Above, the deck was crawling with activity. Weather beaten sailors of every size and description rushed about, some carrying ropes and tackle, others toting about heavy bundles of luggage. Almost immediately had I crawled out of the hatchway the boy disappeared into the confusion, hurrying off in the direction of the bow leaving me standing alone and unsure of what to do next.  
  
"My Lady...Mariko?"  
  
Captain Soltrane had appeared at my elbow, and when he spoke I jumped involuntarily before turning to face him.  
  
Captain Soltrane was not as physically intimidating as the other dread knights I had seen passing through Bale and before boarding the ship. While he was still considerably taller than I was, he did not tower over the men around him; in fact, he was shorter than a good number of them. Nor did he have the hulking, muscular physique that would have given him an advantage in combat. Even under the plates and mail of his armor he appeared slim, almost lanky. And yet I knew from overheard snatches of conversation among the other dread knights on board that his men did not only respect him.  
  
They feared him, and it wasn't because of his rank.  
  
There was a slight pressure under my elbow as Soltrane guided me away from the hatchway, around the curve of the cabin to the rail. Here a large longboat was suspended out over the side by ropes and pulleys. A few bales of equipment had been loaded in, but for the most part the seats were left unoccupied, awaiting passengers.  
  
Leading me to the rail, Soltrane helped me up over the side and into the longboat. Climbing over a bundle of canvas, I carefully sat down, arranging my skirt about me knees as best I could. Setting my own bag between my feet, I glanced back at the deck of the ship, half-hoping to see Amaya pushing her way through the crowds towards us. But there was no such luck: sailors still labored on the decks in a milling crowd, and aside from myself no woman was anywhere to be seen.  
  
The boat rocked slightly as Soltrane climbed in to sit across from me, reaching to catch his blackthorn stave as it was passed to him. "I hope that I find you well rested, My Lady," he said politely as he set the staff in the bottom of the long boat. "There's been a slight change in our plans, unfortunately."  
  
I gave him a significant look and to my surprise he chuckled, the laugh sounding strange coming out from underneath the fierce griffin helm he wore. "It would seem that you were never informed in the first place, I suppose. I'll have to speak to your attendants, then. The original plan was to take you from the port to Fletz in easy stages, so that you might have some time to recover from your voyage. I would have preferred this, but..." he looked away, toward the city of Doneau, "...it appears that someone else has decided to take a hand in things."  
  
After the last of the sailors were seated the boat lurched downward suddenly, and I leaned over to grab the rail. What did he mean, someone had taken a hand in things? What was going on? Uneasily, I followed his gaze to the waterfront. The waterfront itself was not broad, as the city seemed to extend inland rather than following the curve of the coastline. It was hidden in shadow; the blue grey shades cast by the looming buildings lining the front extended down to the water, stopping just short of the docks. The sun was below the line of the rooftops, and with it shining from behind the topmost edge of the shadow, the rooftops themselves, seemed to be surrounded with a thing halo of light. The scene was at once both beautiful and foreboding; inwardly I cringed away from it. I suddenly did not want to find out what awaited me on that shore, and for one brief moment I found myself wishing that I had inherited more of the powers of my wingly father: wings, to fly away from here, or perhaps the extraordinary ability to teleport... And then rationality reasserted itself. Wishes and longings would do me no good now. The only ability that I had inherited from my father- a very limited ability to create and manipulate fire- would do me little good here. Looking away from the waterfront, I set about once again rearranging my skirts.  
  
Soltrane must have sensed my mood, because he shifted slightly, turning to look at me once again as the longboat came gently to rest in the blue-black seawater. "I must say, I think I understand something of how you feel, my Lady," He said softly. When I looked up he was fingering the edge of his dark blue cloak, eyes hidden by his helm. "Driven about without a choice...it's a terrible way to have to live. Pray that you can make your own choices again soon, my Lady. Don't let yourself become trapped in the spiral." With that he fell silent, although he still absently caressed the hem of his cloak as he stared out over the water.  
  
He remained like that for the rest of the short voyage, and the only sounds were the steady creak and splash of the oars in their locks and the heavy breathing of the sailors rowing the longboat. The sun had disappeared completely now; in the deepening twilight we drew up to the spidery wharves. It was low tide and the wharves loomed high above us as we rowed in between them, spidery beams slick with weed and encrusted with barnacles. We continued on past, until the wooden bow of the little boat butted against the stone wall of the harbor. A few minutes more and the sailors had maneuvered the boat sideways, so that we were positioned full against the smooth, flat stones. An ancient stair had been chiseled into the rock in ages past: Soltrane rose and stepped over the side of the longboat, one foot on the wooden seat and the other on the lowest stair. Taking me by the hand he helped me out of the boat; after a few curt words to the sailors he pushed the boat away from the wall and started up the stairs, beckoning for me to follow.  
  
The stairs led up to the deserted street above. Following a short distance behind my guide I looked around, both confused and unsettled at the same time. It was hardly past sunset; normally the docks of a port would still be abuzz with activity. But the street was empty, save for a stray dog wandering mournfully near the mouth of an alley. In both directions the street curved away out of sight, deserted. Here and there the windows of the shops and homes were lit with faint lamplight, but the grand majority of them were dark and gloomy, even fronted as they were by wooden window boxes filled with a variety of different flowers, their heavy perfume mingling with the salt air.  
  
"Keep up," Soltrane called from up ahead, and I hurried after him, sparing one last glance for the empty streets. So odd...  
  
We did not have far to walk. A short way into the city we came to a small square, adorned in the center by a large flowerbed surrounded by a low brick wall. Low, whitewashed buildings with gently lit windows surrounded it on all sides, but it wasn't the architecture that was important.  
  
Soltrane reached out one hand, indicating me to stop as shadows detached themselves from the walls at the far side of the square. Grounding the end of his stave in the stones in front of him, he dropped smoothly to one knee, head bowed and both hands clasped about the shaft of his stave. "Commander Bevan." He said respectfully, still staring at the stones. "My Lord."  
  
"Rise, Captain." Bevan's voice was cold with the indifference of authority. As he drew closer the shadows dropped away and I was able to see the spikes and twisted helm of a dread knight's armor. A long cloak fluttered behind him as he walked; it could have been any color, but in the darkness all was reduced to shades of black and grey. "You made good time. The Grand Commander will be sure to reward you for it."  
  
Soltrane rose to his feet once more, nodding his head in acknowledgement. Now more people were coming forth from the shadows, gathering around until there were twelve all told. All of them dread knights, I realized. Soltrane seemed to take this in too, reaching down to tug at one of his belt buckles as he spoke. "Such a formidable escort. Does the Grand Commander not think me able to handle my charge?"  
  
"You did request the guard, Captain."  
  
"With all due respect, Commander Bevan, the request was not mine. Commander Virgil made the suggestion while I was meeting with him in Bale." Soltrane's voice might have tightened slightly, but it was difficult to tell.  
  
"Ah, so it was Virgil. I had wondered about that." Bevan chuckled, but the sound was dead, devoid of real emotion. "Always the cautious one. But I suppose some caution is in order in situations such as this. Is this the one?" The last mark was directed at me, and he gestured in my direction.  
  
"Uh, if you please sir," Soltrane cut in, "she is a mute. Lady Mariko Ella Ruche."  
  
"Ruche. That's an uncommon surname."  
  
"According to the mother, the father was a wingly from a colony on the fringes of the forgotten lands."  
  
"Interesting." Bevan had drawn close enough that I could make out some of the fine details of his armor in the moonlight. It wasn't especially pleasant to look at. Short, spiked studs adorned every convenient surface of the armor. The helm had been modeled after some ancient, hideous lizard, attentive to detail right down to the minute scales etched into the steel. It might have been something to make a craftsman proud after its forging, but after time and use it now appeared rather battered, with long scratches and scars marring the workmanship. "Very interesting. The Moon Child will be glad to hear that."  
  
I did a quick double take, looking from Soltrane to Bevan. The Moon Child?  
  
Bevan reached out and took my chin in between his forefinger and thumb, tipping my face up so that he might get a better look at me. I stared back at him defiantly as he took it in: pale, silver-blonde hair, violet eyes, the slightly angular look to my features that just didn't fit with the rounded features of most other Serdians... Half-breed. It might have just as well been painted across my forehead.  
  
"My Lord Commander?" The voice came out of the gloom from the center of the square. The dread knight surrounding us shifted to face the newcomer, and for a moment the air was filled with the faint jingle of chain mail. Two of them stepped aside, allowing a young man in a uniform I recognized to be that of a guardsmen hurried into the circle, casting nervous glances at the silent knights surrounding him. "My Lord Commander, Captain Sieg sent me to inform you that the carriages are ready."  
  
"It's about time." Bevan pulled his hand back, releasing my chin. "Tell him that we will be there shortly. Oh, and have some sort of food prepared for the Lady. The carriages will slow us down, I fear. This ride will be a long one."  
  
The messenger bowed and retreated hastily from the circle into the darkness beyond. Bevan watched him go, then nodded. "Alright, everyone. You heard the kid, get a move on. Soltrane, I'm charging you with the Lady's care. The carriages are at the South Gate; you'll find your horse in the stable nearby." He looked around the quiet square, noting the dread knights as they dispersed into the night. "I have some business to attend to here. If the Grand Commander asks for me I should arrive in Fletz sometime tomorrow evening."  
  
Soltrane bowed as Bevan walked past, not rising until the other man had moved out of the square and out of sight around the corner. I looked down, scuffing the cobbles with the bottom of my shoe. The Moon Child. Of course they would have been planning to take me to her. I had heard news from a traveler passing through the inn that Dragoons had been pledging allegiance to her, but... why had they hunted me out? Was she really that desperate for help?  
  
"My Lady. Please don't fall behind." Soltrane had already started across the square; stopping to turn back and look at me, he waited patiently for me to catch up.  
  
Falling into step behind him, I followed meekly, not really paying attention to where I was going. There was no way out of this now. Maybe, if I had tried to run earlier, but not now. The Moon Child was awaiting me now, somewhere across the barren wastes of the Tiberoian heartland. There was really no other choice.  
  
_ "Pray that you can make your own choices again soon, my Lady. Don't let yourself become trapped..."_  
  
I shivered, pulling my cloak closer about my shoulders. No. I would not become trapped. I would go to Fletz, if only because my options were limited. But once I arrived, well...  
  
Only time would tell.  
  
  
  
Woot. In comes the white-silver! Getting dragged off to the wrong side against her will, of course, but yeah! Another dragoon! _-runs about in circles-_  
  
Garren:_ -watching her from the relative safety of the countertop-_ My, aren't we hyper today.  
  
Shade: _-trips on the rug and falls flat on her face- _


	47. Discussions

Ragnarok: Well kids, it's finally happened. Shade has snapped and run off to…well, frankly, I could care less. The important thing is, in her absence, in accordance with some obscure document she can't remember writing because she was most probably drunk on non-alcoholic punch at the time, I am now completing the fan fiction. Yes. Right here, right now. And there's absolutely nothing that you can do about it. _–Insert maniacal laughter here-_ …Ahem.

_And the city went BOOMETH, and there was much fire and burninating. Ayrel ran through the streets like the little pansy-girl she was, with her boots all alight and her dragon buster all a-busted. As she ran, a building fell on her head. Hahaha. A burninating one. And she went SQUISHETH. Laugh. I laughed.Hahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-_

Ragnarok: HEY!

Shade: -_Pulling the laptop out of his reach and shooting him dirty looks-_ Sheesh. I leave you alone for one minute to go to grab a cookie, and see what happens. _–Scans quickly through Ark's 'ending'-_ Wow. Are you on anything Arkie? Burninating? That's it. No more cotton candy for you!

Ragnarok: And what is that supposed to accomplish?

Shade: _-Thinks this over for a moment. At last, fuddled and unable to think of a logical answer she smacks Arkie upside the head with her laptop and toddles out of the room to hunt penguins-_

Silverwing: Pictures on tapestries? One of them was most likely Dart, yes. Mwahahah… like she'll ever make the connection, though…

** Solana's POV:**

Even before I opened my eyes I knew I had slept late. Lying face down with the covers pushed back from my shoulders I could hear the muted clamor and bustle of the crowds in the street below. The night's festivities seemed to have little effect on the townspeople; now that the time for celebration was over they settled back into their sober lifestyle without complaint. Meaning that while there were no drunken brawls in the middle of the street and no parades or shows, the noise pollution didn't allow for much rest.

Next to me Cai gave an almighty snore and rolled over, taking my share of the bed covers with him.

Without the quilts the chill autumn air that lingered in the room closed in on me and I got up hurriedly, grabbing my cloak from where it hung off the back of a chair and wrapping it about my shoulders. Back in the bed Cai slept on, oblivious.

The room that we had rented was small but well furnished with a large bed, a pair of chairs, and a washstand and mirror. The water in the washstand had not been changed since our arrival the night before, and it was chilly when I splashed it over my face. A thin band of dirt had formed around the waterline of the bowl: dust, from when we had washed quickly the prior night. I reached for the washcloth draped over the side of the bowl, but let my hand fall before I could reach it. I could still feel the grime from the past week ground into my skin; scrubbing my face with a bit of damp cloth wasn't going to do me any good.

The bathhouses were in the inn's cellar; a steamy, hot room partitioned into floor-to-ceiling stalls by wooden barriers. The air was heavy with moisture and quiet; this late in the morning, there were few people interested in bathing. Choosing a stall I went inside and shut the door firmly behind me, undressing and setting my clothes in a cabinet set aside for the purpose. A chain hung against the far wall; I tugged it hard and from somewhere in the ceiling above there came a _clunk, _followed by a rushing sound and hot water started to sprinkle through the sieve-like grate above my head.

Taking a handful of brown, slimy soap from the clay jar set on the floor I began to wash. Dirt fell away in what felt like layers. Leaning back my head, I enjoyed the feel of the water trickling through my braids. It felt good; I hadn't had much time to relax since the incident back in Tiberoa.

Cai and I had ridden to Doneau in turns, cutting across country to avoid the main highway, which was just as well. Upon arriving in the port we had discovered that the Moon Child was searching for anyone who had been present during the virage's appearance. Carrying the dragoon spirit around in such conditions is a strain on the nerves, so Cai and I had bartered for passage on the first vessel we had come across. This hadn't been easy; between the two of us we had little of value that we could trade. In the end we had managed, though as part of the agreement Cai spent most of his waking hours working on deck while I was confined to a cabin below. Needless to say, it was hardly a comfortable way to travel. The ship made good time on the crossing however, and so we didn't have to spend a minute more on that damp, dreary vessel than we had to. But it was only once we arrived in port that the real trouble began.

I hadn't expected for the spirit to react, any more than I had expected to find us cornered by more dragoons. And as for what had happened…I reached for another handful of soap and started scrubbing at my hair.

Zion and Kaelin. Two more dragoons on the run from the temples, although apparently for reasons somewhat different from my own. And then there was Ry; no one seemed to be certain entirely what was happening with him, although from what I'd gathered he was also in hiding. Three of them, then. United against a purpose so obscure that only Ry seemed to have the fuzziest idea of what it was about. The explanation he had given us last night was, after all, hardly satisfying. Kaelin had grumbled about this for a few minutes after he had left, though in a steady, low undertone so that I couldn't clearly make out anything that she was saying.

And where did I stand in all of this? Ry had told me to take my time deciding, but really I couldn't see that I had all that many options open to me. Cai and I could continue to run and risk capture, but that would still leave the problem of the dragoon spirit. I still knew almost nothing about it, but an inner voice told me that for as long as I bore it trouble would be tagging at my heels. And for as long as that continued, Cai would be in danger. On the other hand, if I agreed to travel with the three of them I would still face trouble, but at least there would be others at my back. I would be able to learn to control my dragoon spirit. And yet without a spirit, Cai would once again be in danger. In that respect, it was a no-win situation.

Finishing up with my shower, I scrubbed myself dry with a towel and dressed again. Draping the towel over my head to try to sop some of the water out of my pleats, I shoved the door open and stepped back out into the steam-clouded bath cellar, my thoughts still on the problem. It was a no-win situation, unless…

Reluctantly I stepped out of the steam-soaked heat of the chamber, shutting the door and walking into the brightly-lit cellar, steam still rising gently off my limbs in the comparatively cool air. I didn't like the idea, but the more I thought about it, the more certain I became that it was the only way out.

Cai was no where to be found when I returned to our room. There was, however, a paper-wrapped package on the end of the bed containing a fresh change of clothes and a plain belt knife. Kaelin's work, I surmised. She had mentioned the night before that we would need different clothes, seeing as finery, even dusty and torn finery, attracted too much attention. Discarding my old clothes, I changed quickly, not without a sense of relief. The cloth was somewhat coarser than what I was used to, but it was wonderful and warm after the thin fabric of my riding dress. Standing back to examine the effect of my new outfit in the washstand mirror, I nodded with some satisfaction. A long, heavy woolen green skirt topped by a plain brown tunic, belted at the waist. Retrieving the hood from where it lay on the bed I put it on, wrapping the thick ties loosely around my neck instead of tying them.

Returning back downstairs, I wandered past the reception desk and through the arched wooden doorway into the taproom. It was well lit and surprisingly clean, given last night's celebrations. Round wooden tables were scattered throughout the room, surrounded by clusters of stubby, three-legged stools. The dark wainscoting and scraped plaster of the walls were worn and cracked, stained dark by smoke and ash near the fire and lamps, faded and sun bleached near the windows. On the tables candles, still unchanged from last night, sat in congealed pools of their own wax on cast iron plates, the wicks trimmed and waiting to be lit. At the far end of the room a wooden bar stretched from wall to wall, fronted by a row of scarred and battered stools. Behind it stood a stout woman with a stern, no-nonsense expression permanently fixed on her face, wiping empty tin tankards on her apron. Though there were no lamps lit the air smelled faintly of burning oil, mingled with the tantalizing scents of frying fish and old wine.

At this hour the room was almost deserted; only two people lingered about the tables. One was a soppy looking old man dressed in nondescript browns with lank salt-and-pepper hair, his expression mournful as he stared into the depths of his mug. The other was Kaelin, idly chewing on the meaty end of a beef bone as she gazed out of a nearby window. When I entered her head came up, the beef bone dropping back onto her plate. She waved me over before retrieving it again, sticking the end in her mouth and picking up her knife to prod at a lump of yellow-colored mush in the center of her plate.

Pulling a stool out from the table I sat across from her. "Isn't it a little early for lunch?"

She shrugged, spitting out the now-clean bone and reaching for her mug. "It's too late for breakfast. Besides, I'm hungry now." She took a quick drink, at the same time indicating the mush on her plate with her knife. "Mrrph…" she wiped her mouth. "Do you have any idea what this goop is? I'm of two minds about it."

"I think it's cornmeal." I watched as she took a lump of the stuff on the end of her knife, eyeing it somewhat dubiously. "Thank you for the clothes, by the way," I added, remembering myself.

"Thank Ry. It was his money at any rate." Kaelin shook her head. "I've been mooching coin off him for a week now. Keeps saying that he's nearly broke, but as far as I can tell he hasn't hit bottom yet." Finally taking a taste of the mush, she seemed to decide it was okay. "Are you looking for your husband? He just went outside a few minutes ago."

"Ah." I leaned forward against the tabletop. The smell of roasting fish was making my stomach growl.

"So," Kaelin said, pushing away her plate once she'd finished her meal, "Have you made up your mind yet?"

"What? Oh, that." I sat up again. "Sort of. I think I need to talk it over with someone first."

She nodded understandingly. "Ry should be back soon. He went out with Zion an hour or two ago."

As if on cue the inn's double doors swung open to admit Zion, Ry, and Cai. They were just visible through the taproom door; Ry and Cai were arguing heatedly in low voices. Zion moved a bit away from them, cradling a long pole, its end wrapped in burlap sacking, in his arms.

Kaelin's stool scraped across the floor as she got to her feet, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "Men!" She said in a disgusted voice. "Can't let them go three minutes without one of them starting a fight." Grabbing me by the elbow as she passed, I found myself dragged along behind her. She let go as we reached the trio, grabbing Ry by the arm instead and giving him a hard tug.

Ry paid her no notice. "…You can't protect her forever! She needs-"

"How in the name…what makes you think you know what she needs! All you care about is that bloody stone!"

"Even if the two of you should decide to remain on your own, she'll need it! You can't be there to coddle her every step of the way! She needs to protect herself! I don't see why you're so set against it!"

"What would you know about it!" Cai shouted, his face flushed and his breathing coming in short, heavy gasps. "I'm almost starting to wish that we had stayed in Tiberoa! At least then we wouldn't have had to…"

What exactly we wouldn't have had to do, I never found out. Cai trailed off suddenly as Ry reached out and seized the front of his tunic, twisting the fabric and jerking him so that he lurched almost painfully forward and up onto his toes. Though I knew that Cai must have been the taller of the two by several inches Ry suddenly seemed to loom over him, hauling him back down so that they were eye to eye. In that moment I saw a flicker of uncertainty cross Cai's face; Ry's eyes were cold and flat, unblinking as he glared back.

Almost without thinking I started forward, half-reaching out toward Cai, when Zion grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me back. Kaelin, I had noticed, had let go of Ry's arm the moment he had moved and now stood back, her eyes darting from Cai's face to Ry's. Zion eased his grip, but didn't remove his hand from my shoulder. "Don't do anything," He murmured out of the corner of his mouth. He didn't move, but the tension in the air around him was so thick that it could have been cut with a knife.

"Listen closely, Cai, because I'm only going to say this once. You can take all of your bloody sentimental righteous rage and stuff it. That spirit chose your wife to wield it against forces you couldn't even begin to contemplate, let alone defend her against. That monster in Tiberoa was nothing." He spoke softly, but his voice could have frozen a forge. "Face it, Cai. You can't protect her anymore. Solana's fate is greater than anything either of you could imagine and whatever you may like to pretend, she'll have no choice in the matter when destiny takes up the collection." He released Cai so suddenly that my husband actually staggered backward a couple of steps, trying to regain his balance. Without looking at him Ry stalked past, the hem of his overcoat fluttering in the wake of his strides as he headed for the stairs.

For several long moments the only sounds were Cai's heavy breathing and Ry's retreating footsteps as he disappeared up the stairs. At last when the sound of his tread had faded completely Zion dropped his hand from my shoulder, letting out his breath in a vehement hiss as I hurried to Cai's side. "You have to be the luckiest damn idiot on the face of this earth, you know that?"

Kaelin looked unsettled but turned to Zion with an annoyed expression on her face. "I let you guys out of my sight for a few hours, and already you're picking fights with each other. What's up with you?"

Zion looked startled at the accusation, but shook his head. "Don't look at me. He started it!" He pointed at Cai, who was shooting glances back over his shoulder as though expecting Ry to appear at the head of the stairs at any moment. "Yell at him. Oh, right." He held out the pole that he had been holding to me, as though only remembering now that he had it. "You might as well take this now."

"What?" Surprised, I took it. "What is this?"

"It's called a trident." He gestured to the burlap sacking covering the business end of the weapon. "I'd leave that on for now, but later on one of us can show you something of how to use it. Always assuming," he added, looking pointedly at my husband, "that you're allowed."

Kaelin snorted. Cai looked away so that I couldn't see his face. "Go ahead," he said heavily.

I felt a pang of guilt. When we had taken our wedding vows, Cai had also taken up a vow of guardianship, to be my sole protector against any trials I may face as a member (however distant) of the Tiberoian Royal House. Though this was more of a formality than anything else, Cai had taken it to heart from the outset. He had been at my side for years, watching my back as my family waded through the slough of political schemes and plots that are always afoot in any royal court. And now, with one ironic twist of fate, the roles, it seemed, were about to become reversed.

Zion looked as though he was about to say something else but hesitated, looking first from Cai's turned back, then to my face. "Uh…" He scratched the back of his head, looking awkward. "Look, why don't we all just grab something to eat and forget about it, okay? I haven't had lunch yet and I'm pretty sure Ry'll calm down if we just give him a bit of space for now." His words were tactful, but I caught the significant look he shot Kaelin when he thought I couldn't see. "How about it?"

Kaelin crossed her arms and shook her head. "I already ate."

"Fine. Whatever." Zion gave her a slightly exasperated look, then grabbed Cai by the shoulder and I by the elbow. "C'mon. When I say I'm hungry, I mean it."

Without waiting for comment he dragged us both through the arch into the taproom toward a table. Cai grumbled a bit but I followed without complaint, though I did take one last look over my shoulder in time to see Kaelin disappear up the stairs after Ry.

** Dart's POV:**

The wooden slats supporting the cot creaked dangerously as I threw myself down on the flimsy thing, folding my arms behind my head and staring up at the low beams of the ceiling. Even though the room was somewhat chilly I had discarded my coat and shoved it into the corner, heaped around the base of my sword that sat in its scabbard propped against the wall. The room's only window was thrown wide open and the shutters, unbolted, swung back and forth in the wind, occasionally smacking into the window frame. The room might warm some if someone would shut the window, but really… I rolled over onto my front and shut my eyes. Let someone else do it.

Tired? Already?

Ark? Just do me a favor and shut your mouth

What mouth? Ark replied sardonically. You weren't getting anywhere fast on your own back there Dart. Reasonable words weren't getting you anywhere

Facedown, the worn fabric of the quilt was soft and wrinkled against my cheek, slightly moist and warmed by my breath. I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Just let it lie, okay? I really didn't need to deal with this today

Didn't need to deal with what? That man is just sore. If he hadn't leapt down your throat at this, it would have been over something else. At least now he ought to stay out of your way

Maybe. But it'll be a miracle if we can get him to trust us after this

We don't need him, Dart. We need the woman Ark said slowly, in tones of one explaining something very simple to one who is very stupid. He can go and throw a party on the Moon for all that I care, just so long as he doesn't go running back to Ayrel

I don't think that he'd go quite that far I disagreed, but if he doesn't trust us, then we could be hard-pressed to convince Solana to come along with us. If she doesn't come, then I'm going to have to take the spirit from her by force, and that's the last thing I want to have to worry about

True. The spirit might not take another bearer Ark mused. But no wind dragoon at all is better than one serving under Ayrel

"Mmrrm…" I rolled over again and shut my eyes, a muscle in my cheek twitching as a hair, caught on an errant breeze, tickled the tip of my nose. Someone really ought to shut that window.

There was a knock at the door. "Ry? You in there?" The door opened hesitantly, the hinges creaking slightly in protest as Kaelin slipped in, shutting the door again quite firmly behind her.

I didn't bother opening my eyes. "Shut the window, would you? It's freezing in here."

Her footsteps advanced across the room, and a moment later I heard the shutters close and the scrape of the latch settling into place. "If it's so cold, why didn't you just do it for yourself? And if you're going to lie on a bed, at least take off your boots. You're going to get mud all over the quilt."

"Whose turn is it to sleep on it tonight?"

"Yours."

With a sigh I heaved myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed to rest my feet on the floor. "Very well. What brings you all of the way up here? I didn't think you'd miss out on an opportunity to scold Zion." I gave my head a shake, then raked my fingers through my hair, dragging it back from my face. It fell back into place immediately, as incurably scruffy as always.

"I can find something to scold Zion about anytime I want to," she sniffed. "Problem is, I don't think that he was the one causing the problem in this instance."

"Ah." I flashed her a quick, tight grin. "So you're here to scold me then."

Kaelin flopped down into the overstuffed armchair that was the room's extra luxury, added, I'm sure, only to make up for the lack of a proper washstand. "Maybe," she admitted. She leaned back into the chair, hooking one of her legs up over the padded arm. "What no one seems to want to tell me is what happened. I can't exactly scold until I know, right?" She gave me a questioning look, waiting.

I shrugged, then kicked off my boots so that I could sit cross-legged on the cot. "There's not much to tell. Zion and I decided to pick up a weapon for Solana. Cai ran into us on the way back and seemed to take offence." I shrugged. "Like I said, not much to tell."

"You two seemed pretty worked up over it."

"He struck a nerve. I hate it when people object just for the sake of making things difficult."

I just hate it when people object

That's because you're a control freak Mainly for Kaelin's benefit, I affected an embarrassed look. "I will admit that I went a little far, though."

"Oh, I don't know about that. You seemed to get your point across." Kaelin picked at a loose thread sticking out from a seam in the upholstery.

I made a face. "Maybe. But now I think that we're going to have a hard time convincing her to come with us, and I really don't want to stay here any longer than we absolutely have to."

"I don't think so," Kaelin disagreed. "From what she mentioned while I was talking to her this morning, it sounds as though she's pretty much made her mind up already. I think she still wants to talk something over with you, though."

"Good. I was worried that I might have ruined it for a minute back there."

"You did have us all a little bit nervous for a few moments," she agreed. "Though I do think that you could stand to control your temper a bit better, though."

I'd like to see you try Ark grumbled. I burst out in helpless laughter, earning another grumble from Ark and a puzzled look from Kaelin.

"Believe me," I told her when I had recovered myself somewhat, "if there was any way I thought I could, I would. Now, did you ask around about ships when you went down to the waterfront this morning?"

"Not much," she admitted, sliding a little deeper into the chair. "Most of the sailors were either asleep or hungover from last night, and all of the captains who aren't in a similar state are in foul moods because their ships aren't ready to catch the tide. We probably won't find anyone willing to barter passage out of here until tomorrow at least."

"Damn. What about that Mychael fellow? Did you hear anything about him?"

Kaelin shrugged. "Nothing. It's a big city, Ry. He could be anywhere." She gnawed on one knuckle reflectively for a moment. "Why are you so worried about him anyway? He's probably just some overzealous tough who went a little too far trying to earn a bit of money."

"Maybe," I said doubtfully. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew the man from somewhere.

I told you that you should have killed him

Bodies attract attention, Ark

It might have been worth it in the long run He rumbled.

"You're worried that he might have been from the temples, aren't you?"

"It's always a possibility." I responded calmly. "But he seemed to recognize me, and that's something that I always like to avoid."

"Let me get this straight: you're worried because you think that a seedy prizefighter might have recognized you?" She shook her head in amazement. "You have to be the most paranoid person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting."

I flashed her a quick grin, although there was little humor in the gesture. "Notice that I'm still alive, though. Paranoia does have its merits." Then my expression sobered. "Honestly though? The only thing carelessness will do for you is a knife in the back and a shallow grave."

"Depressing," she murmured, eyes searching my face. "So tell me, Ry. Why exactly are the temples after you anyway?"

"They know I have the spirits. I told you that already."

"Yeah, I know that's what you said. But that's not the only reason, is it?" Even slouched over in the chair as she was, her eyes were intent. I tensed slightly, recognizing the look. She didn't know the truth of the matter for sure, but she knew something was up.

"What do you mean?" I asked, keeping my tone nonchalant.

"Um… Ry?" The door swung open again and Solana peeked into the room, a couple of red-gold pleats falling free of her hood and swinging loosely against her cheek. "Can I… I mean, could I have a word with you?" She gave Kaelin, who had been regarding her somewhat sourly, a pleading look. "Please? It's rather important."

"Sure." I nodded, not letting the relief I felt show on my face. "Kaelin? Do you mind?"

Kaelin slouched to her feet and exited quietly, pulling the door shut behind her. For a few moments Solana remained standing somewhat awkwardly where she was, playing with the hem of her tunic nervously. "I, uh…" She seated herself in the chair Kaelin had just vacated hesitantly. "My dragoon spirit. What could you tell me about it?"

"Probably whatever you need to know," I admitted, scratching the back of my head. "If you want to know how to use it, though, then you'd be better off asking Zion."

She shook her head. "That's not what I mean." She reached into a deep pocket in the front of her tunic and pulled out her spirit, glowing gently in response to its master's touch. "Stop that," she admonished it absently. The glow died away, although, I thought, a bit sullenly. She held the spirit out to me for examination. "What is it, really?"

I took the proffered stone with a small smile. I had been trying to get my hands on this spirit for hundreds of years: it comforted me in some small way to imagine Ayrel throwing tantrums over its loss. "What is it?" I held it up to the light streaming through a crack in the shutters, squinting into its crystalline depths. "When you kill a dragon, there's a moment where the dragon's soul is open, vulnerable. No longer completely bound within its body, but not yet free to pass on. If in that moment one was to find a way to obtain one of the dragon's hearts, the dragon's soul would become sealed within it, creating a spirit stone. In the right hands, the powers of the dragons can be tapped, creating dragoons." I glanced from the spirit to Solana. "With me so far?"

"I think so." She frowned. "How can you cut through to a dragon's heart? I always thought that the skin was as tough as armor."

"It is quite tough," I agreed. "The easiest way is to cut into one of the eyes."

Solana blanched a little at this.

"If you want to get a little bit more technical," I continued, "Then it gets a bit more complicated. The spirits lend extraordinary powers to their masters, but the human mind isn't really equipped to deal with it naturally. In order to cope, the mind enters a state of partial insanity. Not-" I added hastily, "insanity in the mad sort of way. It's more like heightened aggression. It brings your nature more on par with that of a dragon and allows you to fight with the spirit's powers properly."

Careful Dart. You're starting to sound as if you really know what you're talking about

I ignored Ark's comment and passed the spirit back to Solana. "That's about all that I can tell you. You're a dragoon now, whether you like it or not. And as much as we all wish it were otherwise, that tends to draw trouble like pins to a magnet." I gave her an apologetic look. "I hate to say it, but even if you were to leave us and go your own way I'm afraid that sooner or later you would only find yourself back alongside Zion and Kaelin again. The fates of the spirits are intertwined in ways that not even you or I could imagine."

Solana stared at me for a moment, then looked away, making a show of fussing over her dragoon spirit as she tucked it away again. "So what you're saying," she said, her eyes downcast, "is that the more I try to run from this, the harder and more dangerous it will be?"

"I guess so."

"And that even if I do choose to go along with your friends, I still have to fight?"

"Yes."

Her shoulders sagged, but when she lifted her head again her eyes were set and resolute. "So I really don't have a choice in the matter, then. Fine. I'll come with you. But," she said, cutting me off before I could open my mouth, "I have a request to ask of you in exchange."

I nodded and leaned back, waiting.

"It's Cai. Whatever dangers I have to face… I don't want him hurt because he became tangled up in a battle that wasn't his." Her eyes met mine, and I was startled to see something familiar behind that unwavering grey-blue stare. "If I'm to do this, it will be my fight, not his. But if the temples find him, I'm afraid that they'll use him as a leash around my neck. He'll need to stay somewhere where the temples aren't well established, and there's little or nothing in the way of foreign contact." A note of plea entered her voice. "I know that I'm asking quite a bit, but I'm telling you the truth when I say that it's the only way."

I nodded and devoted a few moments to the appearance of being in deep thought, but the solution to her request had slipped into my mind almost as soon as she had asked. After about a minute of staring at the ceiling I looked back at her, a small grin pulling at the corners of my mouth. "I think that can be arranged. I assume you still have to talk matters over with your husband, but if you'd be so kind as to inform everyone to gather their things and be ready to leave shortly? We've got a fair amount of ground to cover, and the sooner we leave, the sooner we're finished with it."

You have something in mind I take it

I hope that Cai likes fishing. There isn't really much else to do in Lideria

****

** Garren's POV:**

Clouds blanketed the sky overhead, their grey bellies shifting slightly as the chilly mountain winds pushed them, guiding them hither and thither without plan or reason. Though lately the weather had been warm and almost balmy, a shift in the winds had traded off the warm, near-tropical temperatures for a dry, chilly breeze that carried the scent of desolate mountain passages and rocky windswept plateaus. I shivered, pulling the thick material of my long cloak that had been a parting gift from the mayor of Rogue closer about my body. Here, camped on the rocky edges of the Forbidden Lands, it seemed particularly chill, even more so after all of my years spent training in Rogue.

The scenery wasn't the sort to inspire good moods and happy thoughts either. Though the lands south of the Death Frontier were reputed to be lush and green near the land's heart, out here on the mountainous borders it was barren and lifeless with a perpetual wind sighing endlessly through the mountain passes to the north. Even the heartiest forms of life were scarce here; only small herds of stunted mountain goats feeding upon wiry shrubs and wisps of scrubby grass, and the forbidding black carrion birds that hung in the sky above them, waiting to feed on the carcasses of their dead. There were no predators here in the normal sense of the word: it was the land that was the killer, unforgiving and merciless.

It was hardly the place someone would want to make camp, but as chance would have it, we'd had little choice in the matter. We had been crossing the stretch of ocean that lay between the Broken Islands and Tiberoa with Tygris when a storm had blown up; one of those unpredictable tempests that frequent the ocean during the autumn season. Tygris had done his best to ride the storm out, not wanting to risk a flight through the thunderheads to the clear sky above, but after an hour or so of being buffeted about by crosswinds and unpredictable currents his right wing had collapsed, overtaxed by the long flight and the trying conditions. The only thing that had saved us from a dunk in the frigid ocean was a spontaneous blind warp on Nova's part that landed us on the nearby coastline. Since then we had moved inland, but our situation hadn't improved noticeably. We had no potions with which to heal the dragon's wing, and while Nova's skill as a magical healer is creditable, Tygris seemed to harbor an incredible resistance to wingly magic. And so we were forced to wait, camped out in a rocky enclave to escape the wind's bite, for the dragon's wing to finish healing.

I started up the hillside again, feeling the loose shale slide and shift beneath my boots. Tygris was very useful to have around, but he ate a lot. This had never been a problem when he was fit to hunt on his own, but now with him down and the sparsely populated mountains, finding food was getting to be a definite problem. And since Nova flat out refused to hunt, the task of finding food for both Tygris and us fell to me.

Reaching the top of the slope, I paused to catch my breath and look around. I stood in the center of a narrow pass, between two knife-edged ridges that stretched off to either side of me like the spine of an impossibly huge beast. More cliffs and ridges rose up all around me; from horizon to horizon it was an endless expanse of jagged brown-grey peaks, broken only here and there by the pitted depressions that passed as valleys.

I looked back over my shoulder. Our camp was impossible to see from here; in the past hour or so I'd jumped about fifteen or twenty miles inland searching for something to eat. But I could still feel the beacon I'd set before leaving, a tiny swirl of magic circling the camp, calling out to me across the miles of rough terrain to give me a fixed location of the camp in my head, should I need to teleport back in a hurry. Well, that, and to keep me from wandering off and getting lost. I was rather pleased with myself for coming up with the idea; experimenting with magic isn't really my stuff, but it was a useful little trick.

A seabird cried out stridently overhead, dipping its wings as it circled slowly around a nearby peak before angling away toward a gap in the mountains that I assumed housed another valley. I watched it glide away curiously. What was a seabird doing so far inland? There must be a lake nearby.

I watched the bird for a few minutes longer to make sure that it wasn't about to change direction, then gathered myself, preparing to make the jump. If the bird was heading to a lake, then there was a good chance that there could be some food to be found.

The world around me winked out like a snuffed candle, only to reappear a split second later, though greatly re-arranged. Slightly disoriented, I turned in a half-circle. The beacon from the camp was still there, helping somewhat, but now I was looking at the mountain peaks from a different angle. Dimly I thought that I could see the pass in which I had been standing a few moments previously, although it could have been one of any number that cut through the shadows of the peaks. Turning my eyes upward, I spotted the seabird soaring toward me on motionless wings, riding the gusting winds. Good. I'd aimed to land on the mountain shielding what I had thought to be a valley, but it made sense that it could be harboring a lake just as easily. Satisfied, I released my wings to glide up the rough incline toward the mountain's crest.

It was another of those knifing ridges, narrowing steadily until when you finally reached the top there was nothing to grasp but a few inches width of weathered rock, covered with cancerous black lichen. On the other side the rock fell away sharply, a sheer cliff dropping five hundred feet before meeting with a rocky plateau and leveling off somewhat. Dropping to the ground for the last few feet of the climb, I scrabbled with some difficulty over the rough ground to flop onto my stomach as I reached the top, breathing heavily as I rose onto my elbows to look over the rise.

The breath caught in my throat.

At first it took my brain some time to make sense of what I was seeing. The plateau was not a natural one; at one time it may have actually been the crest of the mountain itself. If it had been the crest though, it had long since sunk into the body of the mountain itself. Detritus from old rockfalls lined the perimeter of the area, and cracks and crevasses split the solid stone into a jagged grid. But I noted this all in passing, my eyes drawn to the blackened monstrosity rearing out of the very center of the crater.

It may have been a building of some sort, though if it had been, it was unlike any construction I had ever seen. It lay in ruins now, but here and there massive steel arches, skeletal and sinister in their construction, protruded from the rubble and in the center, presiding over the ruin like an dying lord was the blackened, crumbling steel carcass of an ancient tower. Magical residue hung heavy on the air, so thickly in some areas that it actually became visible as a rippling distortion swirling slowly around the tower. A vortex of raw, fettered magic, bending itself to work a machine that would no longer function.

The world around me started to spin, and with a start I realized that I had stopped breathing. Taking a deep breath, I waited for the world to steady itself before pulling myself closer to the edge. My hands were shaking slightly and my knuckles where white and aching from gripping the rock so tightly. Mayfil. After all of these years, after all it had dealt with, it was still standing, albeit in shambles.

Movement caught my eye and I leaned forward, slightly breathless as I tried to locate it again. Something was moving amid the rocks and fallen spires. No, not something. Some_things_.

As I realized this it suddenly seemed to me that the entire floor of the pit was seething with movement. But why in the world…fighting down a wave of nervousness I pulled myself over the edge of the ledge and fanned out my wings again, slowing my decent as I dropped down the face of the cliff.

I leveled off about two hundred feet above the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff, keeping as close to the cliff face as I dared. I could see the floor of the plateau clearly now; I felt the hairs on the back of my neck raise as bile filled my throat.

Dead animals lay everywhere, rotting and decomposing, some hanging half in and half out of the crevasses that split the stones, the putrid stench of rotting flesh filling the air. No wonder there was hardly any game to be found in the mountains; the beasts were here. And they were not alone. Emaciated figures, vaguely humanoid even as they crawled about on all fours, scrambled among the dead. Their skin hung loosely on their frames, emphasizing their bony spines and ribcages as they moved. Lank hair hung in straggly clumps from the back of their otherwise bald heads and black, empty eyes stared blankly as they wandered, gaping mouths open and slather hanging in ribbons from between broken and discolored teeth. They wandered among the rotting dead, gorging themselves on the putrid flesh.

A name tugged at the back of my mind. _Wraiths_. Fiends who took the bodies of the dead as their hosts, giving them a contact with the mortal world. At least, that's what I thought. It had been a few years since I'd last picked up a book, let alone put in some constructive study. But if what I did remember was true…I frowned. Wraiths had been unheard of since the days of the dragon campaign, when the magical boundaries surrounding Mayfil had begun to weaken temporarily while the battles raged. If wraiths were able to slip through the gates into the mortal world again, then something was seriously wrong in the dead city.

I lifted my eyes again to the tower, the center of the magical vortex. White, shimmering pools were scattered around the base, a heavy mist rising off of their surfaces. Every so often the surface of one would change, shimmering white becoming a sickly, venomous green as they hissed and spat. Another creature would pull itself from the pool then, trailing green from the pool like cobwebs, and hobble into the dead field to join the other wraiths as they fed.

Confused by what I was seeing, I started to slowly make my way back up the cliff, my long cloak snapping about my ankles in the draft. Someone had to return to Ulara and tell Charle about this, and quickly. I had no idea what it might mean, but something about it was setting off alarms in my head.

The beacon, bless it, still tugged at my mind. The camp was a good distance away; in addition to this I'd have to travel in small jumps: there was no way I was going to make blind warps in the mountains. Focusing, I fixed the image of the pass I had last warped from firmly in my mind, trying to hold on to every detail. Damn, I hated teleporting.

The world flickered, and suddenly I was lying on my back in the center of the pass, having just tripped over a stone as I landed. With a few choice curses I got to my feet, rubbing my behind somewhat tenderly. Steeling myself, I prepared to do it again, this time aiming for a low rise some three miles distant. With Tygris out of commission the fastest way to return to Ulara would be by teleportation.

Throwing caution to the winds I made the jump, this time with much better results. _I hope Nova's up to warping us inland._

Overhead another seabird was circling again, crying out stridently as it soared over the jagged mountain tops. The cries fell on deaf ears; the sound lost in the dying land.

Fear the wraiths. Honestly, do. I borrowed them from another story of mine and sort of spontaneously added them into this one. _–shrugs_- They seemed to fit well enough, after I tweaked the definitions of them a bit. I have a picture drawn of one; if I get around to it, I may post it on Deviant Art. Of course, then I'd be running the risk of my friend smacking me with heavy objects. She'd be much happier if I'd never created them in the first place.

Fight coming up next chapter! Woot!


	48. Unexpected

_-Shade dances about in a circle, waving a piece of paper about over her head. Garren and Dart watch warily from a distance-_

Garren: What's she so happy about?

Dart: Gegachxis sent her a fan art. You didn't notice? She's been like this for days.

Garren: _-Relaxing somewhat-_ Fan art? That was nice of him. Of who?

Dart: You.

Garren: Me?

Dart: Yes, you. Is something the matter?

Garren: O.O I HAVE FANS! _-Runs to join Shade in her capering-_

Once again, biiig thanks to Gegachxis for the fanart. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It puffs up Garren's sizeable ego too!

Silverwing: Do a rewrite of the game? I might at some point, but at the moment I don't really have any fanfiction plans beyond Black Legacies and maybe one or two one shots for various games and such. It might happen, but I'm not sure.

Darkdragon24: Soltrane a dragon shifter? Interesting idea, but I think I've more or less got Soltrane's character nailed down and messed up as is.

Sors: Umm... _-shifts eyes-_ ...maybe...

Brutal2003: Not telling :P

I know. I'm a meanie. XD

YSYF: Same to you. I'm a double meanie. XD

This site as always, hates my formatting. So once again, I deviate from my norm. In Dart's POV, Dart's thoughs are enclosed in /these/ while Ark's thoughts are enclosed in (these)

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**Kaelin's POV: **

It was raining. Not the pelting, driving rain that you sometimes see in the early fall, but a gentle sort of drizzle that soaked slowly through layers of clothing, chilling the skin and turning it clammy and damp. It had been a few weeks since the villagers had seen any rain; the relief had been almost audible when the first drops had begun to fall from the threatening sky last evening.

I wrinkled my nose. Rain was all well and good, but I would have been happier if it would have waited until there was a proper roof over my head.

Almost as soon as we had arrived in Lideria I could see why the temples had never bothered gaining a foothold here. There was nothing to gain. The village was tiny; six or seven huts clustered along the coast and on stilts out in the bay, four or five more nestled against the edge of the forest. None of them were much to look at; hardly a year went past without a winter storm or a hurricane damaging at least three of the houses to the point that they were uninhabitable. As a result, the village had almost a haphazard look to it: a break in an ancient slate roof repaired hastily with thatch; crumbling walls shored up with wicker frames and mud. The island had little to offer save an easy access to the ocean's vast stores of fish; save for the slate shelves on the far shore. Almost anything that was needed to build a sturdy house that might have a chance of surviving the storms would have to come off of the mainland or out of Fueno. And since Lideria hardly had a lucrative trade to fall back on, the supplies they so dearly needed remained in the ports, and the crumbling houses remained, well, crumbling.

I sighed moodily. I sat on the edge of a stump on the edge of the shore, a reed umbrella held over my head to try to keep the drizzle off of me. Still, the wet managed to find me and the fabric of my hacked off pants clung uncomfortably to my legs whenever I moved. Even so, going back inside was out of the question. We had arrived in Lideria early last afternoon, footsore and tired after several days of walking. Ry had managed to convince one of the villagers to allow us to stay in one of the spare huts away from the shoreline. It had looked stable enough, but a night spent under the poorly repaired roof had shown otherwise. In addition to being wet, it was also uncomfortably close. Being stuck under a leaky roof is one thing, but being stuck almost elbow to elbow with an angry Cai was quite another. Almost everyone had drifted off to sleep towards dawn, but I had slipped out before anyone else could wake up. We would be returning to Fueno this morning, but Cai would be staying behind.

Two of the village fishermen were up and about. Forgetting about the previous night for a moment, I watched with some interest as they loaded their equipment into a waiting dory then pushed it off the beach and into the water, wading out knee-deep before climbing in themselves. Once they were seated the larger of the two, a broad shouldered fisherman with straggly white hair that hung past his ears, took up the oars and began to row out into the bay.

I was so focused on the pair of fishermen that I didn't hear footsteps approaching over the sand until Zion crouched down beside me, ducking his head under the edge of my umbrella. "Someone's up early."

"I didn't really sleep." I rubbed my eyes. "You?"

"I might have dropped off for a bit," He admitted. "It's not exactly comfortable in there, is it?"

"You mean trying to catch some sleep when there's water dripping on your head and someone's boot digging into your ribs? Oh, yeah. Comfortable."

"That's not what I meant." He sat at the base of the stump, leaning against the rotting wood. "Ry certainly knows how to pick his fights, doesn't he?"

"You mean Cai?" I twirled the stem of the umbrella, sending a shower of water droplets whirling off in all directions. "He did seem a bit put out, didn't he."

Zion barked a laugh. "A bit? We'll be lucky if he doesn't follow us back to Fueno just to spite him."

"That would seem to be in character, wouldn't it?" I agreed. "Well, for our sake, I hope he has the sense to stay put."

The rain trickling off of the edge of my umbrella had settled into a steady drip onto the top of Zion's head. He rubbed the top of his head, mussing the damp hair. "He's talking things over with Solana now. Ry left a couple of minutes ago. Said something about wanting to stretch his legs."

"Too bad I can't even do that properly." Ry appeared to my right, slipping soundlessly out of the forest to sit on a nearby boulder. "We'll have to be careful leaving. All this rain is drawing all manner of creepy crawly slimy things out of the caves. So far they've been staying clear of the village, but there's enough of them that if they decide to attack us on our way out that they could make some trouble."

"Wonderful. Rain, slimy things, and a good, two-day walk back to Fueno. Just what I need." I gave him a sour look. "You know, we do have the spirits. Why can't we just fly back?"

"Does that mean you volunteer to carry me?" He asked dryly. He wore no bandana to hold back his hair this morning and the wet strands hung in clumps around his eyes. Other than that he looked comfortably dry; the heavy coat he wore seemed to be made of some sort of oilskin and he hunkered beneath it, making the most of the relative protection from the damp. He had, I noticed with some abstraction, exchanged his faded brown shirt for a fresh one of a finer weave, dark red and unbuttoned near the throat, leaving the collar he wore around his neck exposed. I was surprised. Usually he made every attempt to keep it covered.

"Hardly," I snorted and looked away, but I did allow my eyes one last flicker to the heavy, opaque stone set with silver mounting into the dark velvet of the collar. It was a woman's finery; what was Ry doing wearing it?

"Carry you?" Zion laughed, seemingly greatly amused by the prospect. "I don't think so. Still," he mused, wiping a trickle of rainwater off of his forehead, "Kaelin does have a point. There has to be a faster way back to Fueno than walking."

Ry spread his hands, indicating the village, shore, and forest in one broad sweep of his arm. "Do you see any horses? And even if they were here, could we afford them? I'm already having to leave most of my coin behind with Cai to make sure he can support himself for a week or two, at least."

Zion looked away, gnawing on one knuckle thoughtfully. "This is a fishing village, you know. There has to be an old boat somewhere that they don't use very often."

"Do my ears deceive me?" I cupped one hand to my ear and leaned toward him, exaggeratedly miming a hearing problem. "Zion, actually _suggesting _that we use a boat?" Ry barked a laugh and Zion reached over to smack me upside the head. I avoided it, then spun the umbrella again, spraying him with runoff. "Seriously, though."

Zion wiped water from his face, glaring at me. "Hey, it was only a suggestion. Even I get sick and tired of walking once in a while." Reaching out, he grabbed the handle of the umbrella and started prying my fingers off of the grip. After a moment or two of struggle he pulled it out of reach and snapped it shut before tossing it off into the bushes. A self-satisfied smile on his features, he ignored the dark look I shot at him. "If we get wet, so do you."

Ry looked up at the leaden sky. "Speaking of which, it doesn't look like it's about to let up anytime soon. You sure you'd rather take a boat?"

"I'd get just as wet walking," Zion shrugged. "Besides, at least we might be able to put up a tarpaulin in a boat. You can't exactly do that when you're walking."

"We _could_ have if you hadn't tossed away my umbrella, you oaf."

"I think I'll go look for a boat," Ry said loudly, getting to his feet before Zion could open his mouth to retort. "Zion, would you go and check on Solana and Cai? We should be leaving shortly, and I'd rather not have to deal with any last-minute snags that man might invent. Kaelin? Would you come with me?"

I got off of my stump, flicking away chips of rotting bark that had clung to my clothes. While I followed Ry, Zion shambled off in the direction of our hut, kicking the sand as he walked.

The boats were all fastened securely to a stone wharf that reached out into the cove, perhaps the only structure in the village that didn't look ready to collapse inward on itself. At its foot was a small hut, a weathered sign hanging on a rusty length of chain over a narrow doorway. The paint on the sign was old and peeling to the point that it was no longer readable, but Ry stopped before it anyway.

"You may as well just hang around out here. I'll see what I can do about getting a boat." Without waiting for me to answer he went inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. I stared at the door for a minute before remembering myself and turning away.

With nothing else to do, I wandered out onto the wharf. It was old: years of wind, water, and footsteps had worn the dock smooth. Five or six boats were moored to iron spikes driven into the rock, the heavy hemp lines dipping in and out of the water as the boats rose and fell on the slight swell. Seaweed and barnacles clung in thick clumps to the stones near the waterline, wet and shining with rain and seawater. A lone gull sat on a battered crate at the end of the wharf, watching me through suspicious, beady black eyes. It took off as I came closer, launching itself from the crate's top and opening its wings in one smooth movement to glide away, just skimming the crests of the waves.

I sat down on the edge of the crate, watching the seagull as it slowly gained altitude, soaring in a gradual curve off to the southeast. The sky was a little brighter in that direction; maybe it would clear up a bit this afternoon after all. The islands bred strange and unpredictable weather this time of year. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them and rested my chin on my kneecaps.

_The sky overhead was heavily overcast, and the low clouds had a sickly, almost purplish cast to them. A good, stiff wind was blowing out of the north, carrying with it the heady scent of dark evergreens and wood smoke. It snapped at the tightly strung lines of the ship, and they sung and hummed as sailors cursed and struggled to loosen them._

_"Looks like snow." Shane Alphine's heavy quilted jacket flapped open in the wind, but he paid it no mind. "Strange, so late in the spring."_

_Kaelin sat on a crate with her back to the wind, a heavy woolen blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. "This is Mille Seseau, brother. If the weather made sense, something would be seriously wrong." She shivered and shifted so that she was facing her brother face-on. "When are you going to cast off? It's high tide, and with this wind we could be hours gone before anyone even thought of looking for me here."_

_"It'll be hours before father thinks of looking for you here anyway, so what are you so worried about?"_

_"Shane, I spent all of those years being a general disgrace in hopes that he'd disown me someday. Now that he's done it, I don't want to waste my chances at getting off of this frozen rock because you decided to waste a good wind."_

_"He didn't really disown you, Kaelin."_

_"Close enough. You think I'm going to be picky about this? The sooner I'm clear of here the better, anyway." Kaelin watched two sailors struggle past, chests bare in spite of the biting wind and their arms filled with heavy coils of line as thick as a man's wrist. "Would you lend me Lasha tonight? I'd rather not have to wake up and teach one of those idiots a lesson because they figure they can have their way with me."_

_"If you didn't insist on using a fake surname," Shane replied, "you wouldn't have to worry about it. No one's going to bother the eldest daughter of Nicholas Myr Alphine."_

_She reached out and tweaked his nose, none too gently. "You forget, brother dearest, the beauty of this. I'm _not_ the eldest daughter of old Nikky Alphine. In fact, I don't even know why I'm still calling you brother!" She laughed aloud, the unexpected sound startling several of the dockmen who where helping to load crates onto the deck of the ship. "Don't you get it?" Kaelin turned to look at Shane, her hazel eyes shining with such obvious glee that her brother was a bit taken aback. "I'm free of this family. Free. Forever." She laughed again, the wind whipping her short hair about her face._

_Shane watched her quietly, pulling a pair of thick leather gloves from behind his belt and sliding them on his hands. Though he was by a year Kaelin's senior, he had missed being born the eldest son by nearly six years. Taller than any of his siblings with straight, sandy blond hair and serious grey eyes, only his name marked him as a part of the family. But he was possessed of the same sharp mind as his brothers and sisters, if not quite so bent of deceit. In any case, he had long since discovered that honesty was just as effective, saved time, and be just as puzzling when someone was expecting an out-and-out lie. It was that honesty that drove him to speak now, though the reluctance in his voice was as clear as the joy in Kaelin's eyes._

_"Kaelin, I know you're happy about leaving here and all, but don't for a minute think that you're clear of this. Father won't just let you out of his sight. Even if he doesn't drag you home the moment he discovers where you are, he'll keep tabs on you." Shane shook his head slowly. "I'll get you out of here Kaelin, and I'll give you what you need to start over again in Serdio, but don't for a minute assume that you're alone. You can run to the ends of the earth and loose yourself in the stars if you have a mind to, but you'll still be an Alphine. It's in your blood, and like it or not, it's in your head. You can't change who or what you are."_

_"Really?" Kaelin's voice dripped sarcasm. "Aren't you just a shining ray of light this morning." She turned away. "Go play with your boats Shane."_

_Shane bowed to her back before striding away, disappearing below deck to look over his charts before casting off. Kaelin listened to his departing footsteps, staring into the choppy water off of the bow. As the first few flakes of snow began to fall she felt her good mood evaporate, leaving behind only a few sullen, brooding thoughts._

"We can't have any of the larger craft, but I managed to work the guy around to letting us have one of the smaller boats."

My thoughts interrupted, I looked back over my shoulder. I hadn't heard Ry leave the hut, nor the scuff of his feet on the wet stones of the wharf. Annoyed, I stuck a finger in my ear and wriggled it. The explosion in the tunnel below the temple in Bale must have damaged my hearing worse than I thought.

Ry gave me a concerned look, then came to the end of the dock to crouch beside my crate. "Are you okay? You look like something was bothering you."

I made a face. "Just mulling. I don't know why I even bother with the whole reminiscing thing. There always seems to be a downer buried in them somewhere." Letting my arms drop from around my knees, I swung them back and forth a bit as I got back to my feet, trying to get the blood to return to my fingertips.

"Ah." Ry rose smoothly out of the crouch, and looked around at the boats bobbing up and down at the end of their lines. "So, how much do you know about boats?"

"Next to nothing," I replied glibly. "The less holes the better, preferably."

"Wonderful." Grabbing the line nearest to him, he pulled the boat up to the side of the dock and jumped in.

The next few minutes were spent in absorbed silence as we climbed from one boat to the next, checking them over for holes or damage. In spite what I had said earlier, I do know a thing or two about boats, although it was mostly in application to larger ships. In the end we settled on one of the larger of the craft allowed, a fisher with double oarlocks and a single short mast. I sat on the edge of the dock, more or less satisfied by the choice, while Ry clambered about in the bottom, checking it over once more for any faults we might have missed. At length he straightened, wiping his hands off on his shirt.

"It looks like there's one or two little leaks, but as long as we bail out once in a while, they shouldn't bother us."

"Just don't tell Zion about them." I grinned. "He'd probably break down and jump overboard."

"Not really." Ry climbed out of the boat and onto the edge of the wharf next to me. "I don't think he can swim all that well."

"Fly back to land, then." I waved one hand dismissively. "I still say it would have been easier to fly."

"You know that wouldn't work. You can tow the boat if you're so eager, though."

I ignored the jibe. "You know, I'm not sure about that."

"Well, if you don't want to pull-"

"That's not what I mean." I fixed him with a look. For a moment he looked confused, and then comprehension dawned.

"Oh." He looked away. "Kaelin, I already told you. None of the spirits on the belt are mine. All of the others are either in the hands of the temples or with their bearers."

"Really? For someone who's never used a spirit before, you give awfully good instructions when it comes to their use. And then there's that explanation you gave Solana-"

"Eavesdropping?" He cut in. "Isn't that a bit below you?"

"That's not the point," I said, flushing. "The fact is, you have the spirits, and I'd stake my life that you know a healthy bit more about them then you're willing to let on." A trickle of water ran over my brow, and I wiped it away. "You don't get to know what you know without experience. The truth, Ry. What is it?"

Ry said nothing. The silence stretched; almost without thinking I found myself holding my breath. The suspicion was out in the open now; would he answer, or would he just leave?

At long last he turned away, letting out his breath with such a long sigh that I actually jumped. "You should keep your nose out of other peoples business, Kaelin. Sooner or later it'll land you in trouble." He scratched the back of his head. "The truth, huh? Fine.

"Spirits are...fickle." He took his hand away from his hair and studied it. "Some more so than others. They'll accept bearers, but in time they may reject them if they find another who suits their needs better." Glancing back over his shoulder, he must have caught the look that flitted across my face, because he added, "I wouldn't worry about it, though. It seems that the spirits have been waiting for you lot for quite some time now."

"So then you _used_ to be a dragoon?" It wasn't really a question.

"Yes." He got to his feet. "It's been a very long while since I was last able to use that spirit. I doubt it would accept me now even if my life depended on it. It seems to like Zion well enough though, so I suppose things are well off as they are."

"The red-eye? You were a fire dragoon?"

Ry laughed. "A pyro like me? Is it any real surprise?"

I bit my lip and stared down into the water beside the wharf. Fire dragoon. Well, that explained some things, at least. "Does this have anything to do with the real reason the temples are after you?"

"Sort of. I discovered some things about them a while back that they'd really rather remained buried. They tend to be a bit touchy about such things. But it's the spirits that they really want from me." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And maybe to see my head decorating a spike on the Moon Child's alter, but that's just more of the same." He shrugged. "I seem to have a real knack for mortally offending people of late."

I said nothing. Casting me a sideways glance, Ry seemed to decide he'd said enough on the subject, because he gave his overcoat a shake and looked up at the overcast sky. "Well, it seems to be clearing up somewhat. Would you mind getting the boat ready? I'm going to go check on mister argumentative and his lady wife. Hopefully by now Zion's managed to get them to stir themselves."

After he left I climbed into the boat, but there really wasn't all that much to be done. The single sail was tightly furled in a compartment under the bow, and the oars lay on the bottom of the boat, underneath the hard bench style seats. There was even something in the nature of supplies packed into a tin box wrapped in sail canvas, tucked away with the sail. Emergency rations, I surmised, for any fisherman unlucky enough to find themselves stranded. With nothing else to do I seated myself at the stern next to the tiller, idly pushing the bar of wood back and forth while I watched the ripples the turning rudder spread through the slow heave of the waves.

_Red-eye dragoon. Well, that explains a lot of things_. I leaned back against the boat's side. Yes, it certainly did explain a lot of things, but...something about his explanation still bothered me, even though I couldn't quite put my finger on it. But what?

_It's probably nothing,_ I told myself._ You're just being paranoid. Like everyone else in your bloody family._

If only I could have been sure that that's all it was.

**Zion's POV:**

The little boat skimmed across the white-capped wave tops, plowing up sprays of white foam whenever it broke through the rollers with its bow. The wind had been fickle today, but at the moment it filled our single sail so that it strained and bellied outward as it fought to hold the wind. As a result the little craft seemed to fly, much to Kaelin's delight. She sat straddling the bow, clothes soaked and hair dripping with salt water. But she had an exhilarated look plastered on her face, and she was grinning and laughing so much that it was amazing she didn't start choking whenever the spray caught her in the face.

"C'mon, Zion! Just try it!" Swaying wildly as the boat pitched down the far side of a wave, she gave me a slightly maniacal grin over her shoulder. "It's loads of fun."

"Uh, thanks all the same, but..." The boat pitched again and I resumed my former position, head between my knees, sitting in the bottom of the boat.

She faced frontward again, just in time to catch a face full of water. "Chicken," she spluttered.

Across from me Solana giggled. She still wore the heavy skirt and loose, billowing blouse that Kaelin had picked up for her in Fueno, but she had thrown back the hood to catch the sun. The rocking of the boat didn't seem to bother her at all; she sat with her back against one of the benches, skirts folded neatly around her knees. The stiff wind tugged and whipped at her hair, and the thin plaits, so neat when we had broken camp this morning, were a windswept mess as they spilled over her left shoulder.

In spite of my churning stomach, I managed to give her a small half-smile. It was good to see her happy. She'd been too quiet since leaving Cai behind in Lideria yesterday morning, and her heavy mood had been tugging at the edges of my slightly nauseated mind all day. According to Ry we were to head to Furni next, and the Temples there had a large hand in the running of the country, if not quite so much as the Tiberoian Temples, which ran the country in all but name. We all would have to be on our guard there; there was no time for brooding over matters that couldn't be helped.

"We're getting close," Ry reported. He sat at the tiller; heavy coat pulled up to his ears for protection against the wind. "Another hour, maybe two."

I started to reply, but as the boat slid down the side of another wave my stomach turned a back flip. Clenching my teeth together, I decided it might be better if I just kept my mouth shut.

It was difficult to judge time out on the water. The shore slid past, sometimes quickly, sometimes seeming hardly to crawl. High, rock faced cliffs topped with copses of scraggly trees gave way to treacherous, saltwater lowland before rising back into low earth cliffs. Roots latticed the steep slopes, and here and there the occasional hardy bush clung grimly to hard packed clay. Sea birds made their roosts among the roots, and they collected in swarms, spinning and wheeling as they swooped in and out of their nests. Then this too was left behind, as the gradual curve of the breakwater surrounding the mouth of the harbor slowly came into sight, dull and indistinct in the distance.

I sat up a little straighter, brightening up immediately. "Almost there!"

Kaelin had moved down off the bow and was now stretched out across one of the seats enjoying the sun, white residue from the salt water crusting on the edge of her clothes. She opened one eye, shading her face with a hand. "What are you so happy about? We're getting on another boat as soon as we can find one going to Fueno." Her tone was light, jaunting, but the humor seemed to bleed from it toward the end.

"Anything's got to be better than this thing. Right, Solana?"

Solana lifted her head from where she had been resting it on her knees. "Actually, I rather like this." She blinked, almost sleepily. "It's very relaxing."

I snorted. Ry chuckled quietly, swinging the tiller to the right so that the boat angled a bit closer into shore. "You should listen to her, Zion. Maybe if you can find something you like about it the ocean won't make you quite so sick."

"Doubtful." I held up one hand, ticking the reasons off on my fingers as I listed them. "Lots of water, but you can't drink it. Lots of food, but you've gotta catch and cook it before you can eat it. The bloody birds won't shut up, the sun reflects off of the water like it's a mirror, and the entire heaving lot of it seems determined to make me loose my lunch." I gave him a falsely bright smile. "Gosh, you're right! Who couldn't love-"

"I get the point, Zion."

"But I was only trying to say-"

"Shut up, Zion."

Still grinning, I turned around to lean over the side again as my stomach gave another lurch. The sight of water rolling past didn't make my stomach feel any better, but I'd already taken sick once today, and didn't fancy making a mess in the bottom of the boat should it happen again.

Looking at the water didn't help any, so I watched the land again instead. By now the cliffs had given way to forested hills sloping gently down to the water. The forest was awash with color in the autumn sunlight, and it made a mildly interesting focal point while my stomach rolled about in its own private sort of agony. After a few minutes of this though, something caught my attention.

"That's funny," I murmured, more for the sake of saying something than out of any real need to share my interest.

"What's funny?" Kaelin was looking the other way, not really paying attention, but I answered anyway.

"Up there." I waved my hand at the crest of the last hill before the land dove downhill into the hollow in which the port was nested in. "There's a big bare patch."

"There's an old quarry up there." Ry spared it a glance before turning frontward again, concentrating on the breakwater ahead. "No one's used it in years."

I shook my head. "That's not what I meant. All the trees are dead." I half-expected Kaelin to make some smart arsed remark at this, but unexpectedly it was Solana who reacted.

"What?" She snapped, instantly awake as she scrambled over beside me. "Where?" I pointed it out to her obligingly and for a moment she stared at it, face pale and blue eyes wide. At last her lips moved, though the word she whispered was so soft that it might have easily been lost in the wind.

"_Virage_."

"What?"

"Virage!" She tore her eyes away from the hilltop, turning her head so quickly that her thin braids slapped me full across the face. "Ry!"

I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to look. A flock of birds burst from the treetops near the dead patch, scattering into the clear blue sky in all directions. Solana fell silent again, turning to watch with apprehension painted clearly on her face. Even Kaelin had sat up, jokes forgotten. Only Ry hadn't moved; one hand on the tiller, he guided the boat out a hair farther, watching the hill through narrowed eyes all the while.

Before the last of the birds had fled from sight the trees began to tremble, the shaking of the limbs visible even from the distance from which we watched. Then slowly, almost lazily, the virage rose above the treetops, shouldering aside the restricting limbs as though they were no more than straw.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm no scholar. My total experience with books can be more or less summed up in a few ragged picture books that my mother had managed to acquire for my brother and me when we were children. But I do have a good memory. There had been a virage in one of those stories, a squat, bug-like thing that had kidnapped and eaten naughty kids from nearby villages until a knight came along and did away with it. The picture of the virage fighting the knight had always scared my brother. I'd laugh at him, pointing out how ridiculous the monster looked with its boggling eyes and gaping mouth.

'_Funny. Yeah. Ha ha.' _My throat had gone dry. A small part of me decided that if I should ever come across the unfortunate artist who had penned that illustration, I would take the entire volume and make him eat it page by page.

The virage was moving now, shoving its way through the forest with about as much difficulty as I might have walking through bushes, swinging its massive arms like wrecking balls, and with similar results. The sounds of falling trees and splintering wood filled the air as the creature lurched away from us, heading down the far side of the hill.

"Sweet love of the goddess," Kaelin breathed, sinking back down again. "Solana, you say you killed one of those things?"

The boat lurched sideways, changing course again. I wrenched my head around to look at Ry who stood braced against the tiller, a grim look on his face as he steered the little craft toward the rocky shoreline. "Ry? What're you-"

"It's heading for the city." Ry said shortly, his eyes still fixed on the broken trail the virage had left in its wake. "The virage was created as a weapon. Destruction is the only thing that comes naturally to them." Dropping his eyes to look at us at last, his expression was bleak. "One in Tiberoa, and now one here. This is the last thing we need."

The city. The urgency was clear in Ry's voice as he spoke, and he suited action to the need, cutting the boat in toward land, maneuvering it amongst the submerged shoals and grounding the little boat on the rocky shore. Almost before the boat had ground to a halt on the rocks he had sprung over the side, landing in the knee-deep water and wading the rest of the way to dry land. The rest of us hurriedly followed suit, swinging one by one over the side into the frigid water and splashing through the shallows to the thin strip of pebbly sand that bordered the shoreline.

"The spirits! Now!" Ry said sharply, and then took a deep breath. "You guys wanted to know why the spirits chose you as their dragoons, right? For the moment, this is as true an answer as any I could hope to give you. Now hurry, and don't let that thing reach the city!" The wet hem of his coat catching and slapping the back of his legs he started off into the woods at a half-run.

"Wait a minute! Where the hell do you think you're going?" Kaelin demanded, even as the blue glow of her transformation surrounded her in a hazy nimbus.

"Do you really think I'd be any good in a fight against a thing like that? I'll be around." Ry plunged into the woodland, leaving us alone on the shore.

Kaelin stood impatiently already garbed in the strangely beautiful armor of the blue-sea dragoon. Solana was ready too, her own armor somewhat heavier and functional than Kaelin's, though unmistakably made to fit a woman's body. Only I was left, standing shivering slightly in the wind in my thin clothes and sodden boots. Hurriedly I reached for my link with the red-eye spirit, feeling grateful for the warmth that seeped through me as the transformation initiated itself.

Almost before the light from my change had faded Kaelin took to the air, rocketing upwards in a tight corkscrew that left a shower of glittering sparks falling in her wake. Spreading my wings, I couldn't help but grin at her enthusiasm in spite of the circumstances. Kaelin hadn't had very many chances to accustom herself to fighting as a dragoon, but she had picked up on the intricacies of flying much faster than I had. Kicking off, I soared upward to join her with Solana on my tail.

The beach shrunk to a thin grey-brown strip as we rose and the hills and valleys and rippling shoreline unfolded below us, a living diorama more fascinating than the most fantastic of models. The sea stretched off in a curving line for as far as the eye could see, still shrouded here and there by soft grey banks of fog at the extremes of my vision.

"There," Kaelin said as we gained level with her, pointing with one gaunletted hand. Below us the hills sunk down into a valley, bordered on the southern end by the sea. Fueno, vast and sprawling, filled the valley floor and curved around the harbor. It was the harbor to which Kaelin pointed, or rather at the grey monstrosity that was wading through the deep body of water as though it were little more than a shallow pond.

"It didn't even try to go around the water," I said, surprised.

"I don't think its smart enough to know to," Solana replied, then pointed to the swath of devastated trees below us. "Look. It's traveled in a straight line since coming out of the quarry. It's heading straight for the city without another thought in its head."

I swore. "Okay then, Solana? You're the resident expert. How are we supposed to tackle this thing?"

Solana swung around to protest, eyes wide, but Kaelin had turned toward her too, waiting expectantly. Under our expecting gazes she faltered, then at last gave up and looked away, down toward the virage.

"You won't do much good attacking the body, especially for the amount of time the transformations last. Its skin is thick enough to be a shell, so I don't think it'll feel very much. The most vulnerable target is the face. If we can get a few good blows in there, we might be able to stop it." She looked grim, constantly shifting her grasp on the shaft of her trident. "Just watch out for its attacks. The last one shot bolts of energy that could burn right through armor with a direct hit."

"Wonderful," Kaelin said dryly.

I reversed my grip on my sword so that the business end pointed straight down, ready for a stab, then changed my mind and reversed it again. "Okay. Time to move, ladies. The clock is ticking."

The virage moved slowly though the harbor, up to its waist in white water churned to froth by its movements. With each ponderous, unsteady step a fresh set of waves would form before it, running ahead of it to dash themselves against the hulls of wildly rocking boats or the more solid stone-and-wood piers. As slowly as it seemed to be moving though, it was closing the distance surprisingly quickly; the nearest of the ships was only about a hundred and fifty yards away. Three big steps.

It was Solana who reached the thing first, pulling out of her dive to nip neatly under one upraised arm, flying directly at the small face with her trident held before her like a lance. She disappeared momentarily from sight and then reappeared, soaring in a tight loop around the blocky shoulders. Blood shone wetly on the prongs of the trident, but the virage had only stopped, looking from side in puzzlement. Changing the angle of my approach slightly as the virage caught sight of me and lifted its arms to fend me off, I realized Solana's mistake. The trident is made for close combat. You could block, parry, disarm and slash quite effectively. But even though a trident thrust is quite fatal to humans, the prongs were connected in such a way that prevented them from penetrating very deep into the virage's body. A clean, deep spear thrust might have been enough to critically wound the creature, but a trident would do little more than annoy it. That realization was my last thought before I was on the monster, rolling and dodging to avoid the heavy swings of the club-like arms.

It was madness. As slow as the virage had seemed before the arms, thicker than oak trees, moved like snakes at close range. Rolling to avoid a swipe from one arm the claws of the other glanced of my back, tangling my wings momentarily. Somewhere, through the heavy fog of battle fury that slowed my thoughts, I was amazed to feel something that was disturbingly close to pain throbbing through the wings. Then that thought too was swept away as I caught sight of the virage's face above me, a triangle of dark brown leather peeking out from a hole in the white lumpy head. Powering upward with my wings, my charge was blocked once again by the flailing arms.

Time was running out. There was a flash of white-blue light and a spike of crystalline ice shot from the water, imbedding itself deep in the virage's lower chest. The monster's scream was earsplitting as the spike seemed to melt away, leaving only a deep bloody hole where it had been. Deep, but not fatal. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a blur of blue as Kaelin streaked away, toward the relative safety of the nearest ship as the energy fueling her transformation began to flicker and die out. And then, with one last futile swipe at the face Solana was gone too, leaving me to face the creature alone.

Pulling back out of range of the virage's windmilling arms, I took a moment to assess the situation. The virage had taken some wounds, I could see from here. Kaelin's handiwork was evident; blood staining the frothing water red as it ran thick from the puncture in the chest. Solana's marks showed as well; a deep tunnel had been chewed through one shoulder, hampering the reach of that arm.

And still the creature came forward.

My own time was nearly spent as well. I had used my spirit several times more than either Kaelin or Solana, so my transformations lasted longer than theirs did, but even now I could feel the last of the energy slowly filtering away. Two minutes, at best. Could I even take this thing down in two minutes?

An arm lashed out at me, claws whistling through the air, and I pulled back a little farther, keeping my eyes on the virage. Its face made a difficult target; Solana had done it once, but according to her that virage had had only one arm and was well damaged from fighting another dragoon before hand. This one...

I shook my head, frustrated. _You're just wasting your time, Zion. Don't think._

Right. Don't think. That sounded very good right about now.

The virage took another step, lurching forward into the foam as the leg on its injured side buckled beneath its weight. For one bare instant it was off balance, its arms dropping into the frothing water and I shot forward, sword extended for the thrust.

The face of the virage was surprisingly tough. For all the speed I built up my blade only penetrated half of its length, crunching sickeningly as it ground through flesh and bone. Blood seeped out around the steel, running in thick rivulets down the leathery folds of the face. Gritting my teeth, I clung grimly to the hilt of the blade as the virage screamed and thrashed its torso about, the oversized body swaying dangerously over the water.

Here's something interesting: did you know a virage's eyes are on stalks? It's rather disturbing, having four or five eyes, all waving about in your face.

Setting my feet against the flat of the face I heaved on the hilt of the sword, my stomach sinking in disappointment. The blow was deep, but it wasn't going to be immediately fatal. Bracing myself, I prepared to give one final heave.

It was then that several things happened at once. Unexpectedly the sword slid out another foot or so, the suddenness of the action throwing me off balance and for a moment I hung there by the hilt, wings forgotten as my feet scrabbled for purchase. Even more unexpectedly, for me at least, was the sledge-like hand that connected with me side on, snapping the blade of my sword like a twig and swatting me away like a fly.

Spots of light exploded in my vision then disappeared one by one as the world slowly went dark. I was aware enough to feel the air rushing past, feeling strangely gentle as it ran through my hair, over my body. My wings hung limp and useless; I would have thought them broken if I hadn't know better. Even more alarming though, was the rate at which the armor's energy was slipping away. _Thirty seconds. Twenty_.

And the virage was still standing, a rapidly disappearing blob of white-grey in my vision.

_No. No bloody way._

Even now I'm not entirely sure why I did it. I'd seen Kaelin's magic damage the virage, and it was fairly safe to assume that the hole in the shoulder was of similar origin from Solana, but I could hardly see, let alone aim a spell.

_Ten seconds._

Desperately, I reached out to the spirit. I could feel its power, like a river of molten fire flowing just out of my reach. I stretched farther, straining for it. With that much untapped power, surely I could destroy the virage...

A split second before the transformation reversed itself, I felt something react, deep within the spirit. I tried to release it, to burn the monster where it stood in the sea, but almost before I started the last of the energy dwindled and the armor disappeared, leaving me cold and exhausted, my mind slowly slipping out of focus. I was in the water, I realized dimly.

_Water. So cold._

Blackness closed in.

**Dart's POV:**

I had watched the entire battle unfold from shore, hurrying along through the trees as I struggled to keep level with the virage. At last I sunk down onto my heels, breathing heavily from exertion. The shoreline was by no means level, and running through the woods was even worse. Add to that the mental strain of having to watch the battle instead of being able to participate, well...

(They're having some trouble) Ark observed.

/It's too much for them/ I muttered silently, shaking my head. /Zion's the only one of them that's really had any sort of experience/

(Whose fault is that? You should have found them something to practice on. Each other, if nothing else)

I said nothing, watching as Solana's spell chewed a hole almost clear through the monster's shoulder. Yes, I should have done something. But there was really no help for that now. Irritated, I bit my lip until blood almost flowed as first Kaelin, and then Solana left the battle to land on the decks of nearby ships to return to their natural forms and watch the outcome helplessly. This _was_ too much for them; my first virage had been difficult, and even then Rose had assisted us and it had been horribly injured to start with. This was in a different league altogether.

(Dart...)

/I know!/ I snapped back. Zion was the only one left now, hovering back just out of reach of the virage, pestering it. The man was a good fighter, but there was no way he would be able to finish this one on his own. Reaching for my link with my spirit, I kept my eyes riveted on the fire dragoon as he shot forward and disappeared from my sight.

In a heartbeat he was back in my view again, though not in any way that I would have liked to see him. I saw the virage move, striking across its body with one massively disproportional arm. Zion was slapped away, rocketing down on an angle into the water and sending up a fountain of spray as he struck that was clearly visible from where I stood half a mile away.

/Damn it!/ Light blossomed around my body, consolidating rapidly into the freakish armor of the divine dragoon.

(Fire, Dart. You might be able to hit it from here)

/And what if I miss?/ I lifted the cannon and cocked it, feeling the innumerable little mechanics inside begin to hiss and grind as I focused raw energy into the weapon. /I'd take a major chunk out of the waterfront/

(That's still not as bad as letting the virage reach the city) Ark snapped. (Short of going out there and getting within better range- and within plain sight, might I add- you don't have any other option)

I kept the cannon steady, but inwardly I sagged. Ark was right, of course. As long as I wanted to keep up this charade, I had no real choice. Lifting the cannon higher to my eye I started to aim, but at that moment something caught my eye above the virage.

"What in the name of..." I let the cannon fall, virage forgotten as I stared incredulously up at the phenomenon in the sky above. Clouds of deepest crimson were rapidly forming, flowing and boiling over one another like angry thunderheads. Orange light, pale and baleful, flickered across the bellies of the strange clouds like the shadow of lightening.

I knew those clouds. It had been nearly nine hundred years, but some things you just don't forget.

/He's trying to call the dragon/

(What?)

/Zion! He's trying to call the red-eye!/ I watched, amazed. The center of the clouds had begun to swirl slowly, but there was none of the spectacular fire burst that usually accompanied the dragon's appearance. And then almost as soon as it had started the swirl dispersed, and the clouds quieted and began to pale. In moments they had all but disappeared, a few wisps of off-colored mist fading into the mid-afternoon sky.

I let out the breath I didn't realize I had been holding. /That kid..._hey!/_

Taking advantage of my distraction, Ark had shoved me to once side and taken control. The cannon came up; before I could react he took his aim at a glance and fired, the recoil from the shot forcing us back a full step. The bolt streaked across the intervening space like lightning and caught the virage in the back of the head.

If I had been able, I would have looked away. /You enjoyed that, didn't you/ I accused as out in the water what was left of the virage swayed and slowly toppled backward into the water. It was an impressive sight.

(Now where would you get that idea from?) Ark asked, a broad, satisfied grin settling onto his features. Then he laughed aloud. "You have absolutely no idea how much I needed that."

/Alright. I get the idea. You're happy. Can I have my body back now?/

"No." With a flash the armor disappeared and we were left standing on the ground, between two deep, clawed footprints in the loam. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he started down to the shoreline. "I suppose we should find somewhere to wait for those kids."

/Wonderful. I think I want to throttle Zion/

(He does tend to jump into things, doesn't he?) Ark replied, switching back to his thoughts again. (I wonder how he knew about the dragon?)

/I don't think he did/ I disagreed. /He just does things without realizing it. He's got a good hand with a sword, but he has about as much control of magic as I do over the weather. If he isn't thinking clearly, he just seems to turn loose all of his energy at once and hope for the best. That's almost as dangerous for him as it is for the rest of us/

Ark grunted, and I felt his good mood lessen slightly. (Someone will have to talk to him about that) He said in a tone that left no doubt as to exactly who that 'someone' should be.

/Thanks a lot/ I said sarcastically.

(What?)

Once again the particular link Ark had forged between the spirits and myself proved immensely useful. Zion and Kaelin at least, were making their way back to the city. Solana was indistinct, but the chances were fair that I'd find the three of them together. In any case, it took us the better part of the afternoon to make our way back to the city outskirts on foot. By the time I had located the inn where their trail ended the sun was a low smudge on the horizon and the first of the stars had begun to appear in the purple-blue sky.

Fueno is a potpourri of multiple cultures, and it shows in the construction of the town. This particular inn was located further in toward the heart of the city, and had the single level, sprawling construction that was usually found in the rural areas of northern Serdio. The door was held open with a wedge of wood, allowing light and the sound of conversation to spill out onto the cobbled stone street. A single horse was tethered to the hitching post within sight of the doorway, a feedbag strapped onto it muzzle. The whole scene was framed against the darker silhouettes of the taller buildings in the surrounding neighborhood, a welcome sight to eyes as day-weary as my own.

Someone sat on the doorstep, patting the horse's outstretched nose through the feed bag. They got to their feet as I approached, dusting their hands off on their pants.

"I was wondering when you'd find us." Kaelin didn't look at me, but there was an unspoken welcome in her voice.

"How's Zion?"

"Could be worse. Could be better too, for that matter. That..." she looked around cautiously, "thing did a number on his side. The armor took the worst of the blow, I think, but he still had some cracked ribs." She shrugged. "I borrowed a longboat from one of the ships and fished him out of the water before he went under. He was out cold. He's still a bit out of it, for that matter."

"And you two?"

"Solana sprained her shoulder. Other than a few scratches and bruises, that was about it. The two of us got lucky." Kaelin rubbed her forehead. "Myself, I'm just tired. The whole city was in an uproar earlier. You should hear some of the rumors flying around at the moment."

"I'm sure I will, whether I really want to or not." I sniffed the air, not missing the warm smell of roasting beef. "Do they still have any dinner left? I could really use a bite to eat."

Kaelin hesitated. I looked at her, her face half in light, half in shadow. "What?"

"Uh, look." She grabbed me by the arm and led me forcefully through the doorway into the crowded, lamplit common room. "You promise not to flip out again?"

"What?" I asked, bewildered. "Kaelin, what are you on about? Kaelin?"

There was a series of doorways on the far side of the room. Dragging me between tables crowded with men bent over plates of stew and tankards of ale, she chose the nearest of the doors and pushed me through in to a comparatively dim hallway. Once the door was closed she let go of my arm and turned to face me, her arms folded under her breasts. "Promise you won't flip out. Otherwise, I'm not telling you another word."

"Fine. I promise." I raised one eyebrow, waiting, but instead she turned away and headed farther down the hall. Falling in step behind her, I had to content myself with listening to her story while she related it over her shoulder.

"I don't know how he got here so quickly, honestly. That poor animal out front is his, but he must have nearly ridden it to death to get here in time: he only arrived about half an hour ago."

"Wait a minute," I stopped, an awful suspicion forming in my mind. "You can 't seriously mean..."

Kaelin stopped too, one hand going to the brass knob of the door closest to us. Wordlessly she opened it, motioning with a nod for me to go inside.

It was a large room compared to the one we had shared during our first stay in Fueno. Two of the three beds had been pushed together and Zion lay sprawled across them sideways, staring at the ceiling. Solana sat on the third bed, her hood hanging by its strings around her neck. And there next to her, a soft look on his face, was Cai.

They had been speaking, but the conversation cut off abruptly as soon as I entered. Cai got to his feet, his face hardening into the expression of a man expecting to face an explosion. I gave him a long look as Kaelin came in quietly, shutting the door behind her. The silence stretched; even Zion managed to prop himself up onto his elbows to get a better look. In the back of my mind Ark was growing in annoyance, though he said nothing.

At length I turned away, pulling off my coat and draping it over the brass footboard of the bed. "That must have been one hell of a ride Cai." I sat on the end opposite of him, at Zion's feet. "Where'd you get the horse?"

"A farmer sold it to me," he said tightly.

"With the money I gave you, no doubt. You must have ridden right through the night to get here in time." I watched as he nodded, then sighed. "To be honest, I can't really say that I'm surprised."

"You're not angry?" Kaelin asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

"Angry?" I repeated mildly. "Of course I'm angry. I could spit acid. I'm just too tired to do anything." I leaned against the footboard. "You may as well catch up on that sleep you missed last night Cai, because tomorrow you're going back to Lideria if I have to drag you there in irons."

"With all due respect, _Ry_," Cai said stiffly, his voice cold, "Even if you chained me to a tree, I'd only follow you back again even if I had to drag the bloody thing behind me. I don't know what it was my wife said to you, but I'll tell you this: five years ago I swore an oath on the King's own sword to protect and defend this woman against any and all hardships." He reached back and set one hand on Solana's slim shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm not going to even pretend I know what this whole business is with dragoons and monsters and whatnot, but even if I can't be her guardian anymore..." He looked down at her, then back up at me, his eyes flat. "There's nothing you can do short of killing me that'll stop me from coming after the lot of you, to stay at her side and watch her back, if for no other reason."

His words hung heavy on the air; I looked away, not trusting myself to meet his eyes for a moment longer. A small part of me felt almost grudging approval of the words, but the greater part of me- Ragnarok somewhat more so, for that matter- was giving some serious thought over to killing him and being done with it. But that, of course, would never work.

I'm not sure when it was exactly that I became fully aware of the soft resonating glow at my hip. The quality of the light was so akin to the golden lamplight that I might not have noticed at all. It was Ark, however, that cemented the matter.

(Hard as rock, stubborn as stone) He grated. (Should I ever find a away to get out of this stone I think I'm going to have to sit down and have a nice, long talk with our friend the gold dragon about his taste in personality. A very _pointed_ talk)

Slowly I reached down, fingers working the steel clasp that held the golden spirit in its holster. Then I got to my feet, shoving the stone into Cai's hands without looking at him. Grabbing my coat from where it hung, I pulled it on and reached for the doorknob.

"Ry?" Solana queried tentatively, as though she wasn't really sure she should speak.

"I'm going to go get something to eat," I said to no one in particular. "And drink. If I happen to pass out in my stew later on, I'd appreciate if one of you would kindly come and fetch me. I'm rather tired." Twisting the door handle, I pulled it open and left.

/The barkeep better have some good, cheap ale/ I grumbled.

(Just don't get yourself drunk. I _hate_ dealing with you when you're hungover)

/Maybe I'd be better off just going to sleep/

* * *

Wow. I think that's a new personal best when it comes to lateness. Verging on something close to two months. Add in the fact that I wrote the last 8 or so of 21 pages in one day, well...

I need to get 'procrastinator' tattooed to my forehead. Teehee.


	49. Diverted

Just a quick note: Anyone who has any really involved (or just plain lots of) questions regarding the story and the like, I'd prefer it if they would email them to me, rather than ask in reviews. Small questions are fine, but anything else is taking up quite a bit of room. Not that I mind answering questions; I prefer to get them answered and cleared up so that the reader can understand anything I haven't made clear enough. It's just to make it a bit easier for me when I sit down to write up the Q&A bit before each chapter.

All right. There's only...oh crap. See what I mean about the questions?

GundamWingFanatic90- What note is the story going to end on? I'd consider it a good one. Of course, I can't speak for everyone, but...

Dragonlord- Oh boy...

How could it be that a stone switched places with a heart? I'm not sure. Ask Ark; he was the one who did it, not me.

No, there never actually was a noticeable form of communication between the dragoons and their spirits during the game. It was an element that I added to make the story work. In this particular case, I only extended it to Dart and Ark, because really, there was no need for anyone else to do it.

As far as Dart's little 'allergy' to wingly magic, well, put it this way: Just because someone is allergic to dogs, that doesn't mean that dogs are allergic to them, see what I mean? It's a bit more complicated than that, but that about sums it up.

1) That's more or less dealt with in this chapter.

2) Could be. Might not be. That a spoiler, so I'm not saying anything :P

3) Hmm...if that were the case, it would be similar to Cai's: they either weren't ready to accept a spirit, or the spirit wasn't ready to accept them. But really, I don't expect to see them flying around in armor any time soon, so it's rather irrelavent.

4)I suppose it could, but I brought Mariko into the story with the intention that she'll remain a mute. I like mutes; they're rather challenging to write for.

5) The dragoons will get more power as the story progresses. They just need some time.

6) Oh boy. This one's tricky. In order to explain this, you have to understand the way I look at the dragoon's using magic. The actual power they use when casting a spell is not their own, since all of their power comes from the spirit. Therefore, it stands to reason that the spirits have all of their possible power from the outset. It's the characters that grow and progress, and as they develop its the amount of power they can handle that changes. At level one, they can only handle a small amount of power, so that's all they use. At level 5 they can handle all of the power, so they put that to use. Zion doesn't have what you could call a fine understanding when it comes to using magic; he just grabs what he can hold, releases it, and hopes for the best. He could sense the amount of power the spirit held and tried to reach for it, but since he couldn't handle that great a flow of magic, the spell collapsed before it even really began.

???????- Meh. I'm not unduly worried. If Sephiroth does happen to appear on my doorstep, I'll just drop a big fat pile of my personal life on him. That's enough to stop anyone :P

Chaos 13- The pictures of the new dragoons will be posted on deviant art as they're finished. As it stands, I'm rather occupied with my collage art portfolio (as I'm continuously ranting on about), so that's a bit higher on the priority list. The poster-style image is actually going to be included in the portfolio, so I'm taking my time and doing it well rather than risk goofing up because I rushed it. As to the draconics, they belong to one of many stories that I have floating around in the back of my head. I never actually wrote the story, because I was never able to construct what I thought was a solid enough plot. I might come back to them someday, but for now they're pretty much on the back burner.

Silverwing- -.-; People love this question, don't they. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: it happens when it happens. I'll tell you this much: wait until we're back in Millie Seasue. Then we're getting close. Nova and Garren will show up in due time; they've got their own problems to worry about, considering Garren couldn't find his way out of a wet paper bag....

I don't really know how many chapters I have left. We'll see what happens, ne? XD

Freefall- O.o Dart/Solana? _-runs for the hills-_

Gegachxis- Zion/Kaelin? _–keeps on running-_

* * *

**Ragnarok's POV:**

It had been a chill night. A thin blanket of wood smoke hung over the city, filling the air with the sharp smell of burning cedar and pine. The sun had risen just above the rooftops but it brought no warmth to the air; Dart's breath still gathered in little clouds like puffs of smoke wherever he breathed, and frost still slicked the cobblestones where the street lay in shadow. The few people who bothered venturing out into the crisp morning were for the most part workers and housewives, the former wearing heavy dyed wool overcoats over their smocks while the latter clutched flannel shawls and woven baskets as they hurried to pick up the morning's groceries. Within a few hours the sun would heat the air enough that the woolens would no longer be necessary, but until then people hurried about with their extra clothing, determined not to feel the chill.

Dart walked along the storefronts, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold and his hands thrust deep into his pockets. It had been a long night wandering from taproom to taproom; after leaving the inn where the others were staying, neither of us had felt particularly anxious to get back. Even if it had meant spending the night dozing in rickety chairs over a lukewarm cup of watered-down ale.

/What time do you think it is?/ Dart asked, a tad groggily.

(Maybe a bit after seven. I heard some bells go off a while back)

/Ah/ Dart stepped to one side as a pair of young woman hurried past, thick woolen scarves wrapped around their heads. /I suppose we should think about heading back sooner or later, huh? I don't think I want to hang around here any longer than we have to/

(Do you still plan on heading to Furni?)

He pulled one hand out of his pocket and rubbed his chin reflectively, feeling the coarse stubble that had sprung up overnight through a hole in one of the fingertips. /I need to shave/ he remarked to no one in particular. /I suppose so. I wish the cult didn't have quite so much influence there, but it's probably the safest place to go if we plan to keep moving/

(Relatively. Do you want me to take over for a bit? You didn't get all that much sleep last night)

/I'll be okay for a while yet/ he said defensively, but the mention of the word sleep had him suddenly fighting back a yawn. /Besides, my body's tired too. I don't need you putting any more strain on it/

(Suit yourself)

Gradually the sun began to inch its way higher over the rooftops of Fueno, though the air retained its bite. Dart continued to wander, though now he had a direction, picking his way along the streets that would eventually bring him to the waterfront. The captains of those ships in port often frequented the inns and taverns built along the dockside, or if not the captains themselves then crewmembers who might have an idea where to find them. With the end of the island's harvest flowing into port in the beds of wagons and on the backs of horses the harbor was filled with ships waiting to carry it off to the cities of Endiness. Finding a ship heading for Furni would be no problem. Finding a captain that would be willing to take on five passengers, however, could be a different matter altogether.

/I don't know where I'm going to find the money for this/ Dart grumbled as we reached the waterfront.

(Where do we ever find the money for anything? Sell Cai's horse. That should give us enough to get us to Furni, at least)

/I suppose so/

Even though it was still early in the day, the waterfront taverns were filled to bursting with sailors and travelers of every size and description. Dart made his way from one to the next, asking after captains with similar results each time. The first wasn't ready to leave port. Another didn't want to leave while the body of the virage was still in the harbor, believing it to be bad luck. Or they were heading to Bale or Doneau. The one or two we did find that were heading to Furni either had no room and refused to take on passengers, or wouldn't be leaving until the end of the week.

After two hours of frustration Dart finally slumped down at a table in one of the smaller bars at the eastern end of the docks, grabbing an ale off of a passing serving man and passing him a couple of coins. Taking a long drink, he set the mug down and leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. /This is going to take forever/

(I doubt that, somehow) Though Dart's eyes were closed I could still 'see' the activity of the bar around him, shadows of movement and sketchy pictures that drew themselves in my mind's eye as I looked around. This pub was somewhat smaller than the others we had visited that morning, a narrow building wedged between the larger dory workshop one the one side and the sailcloth mender on the other. Despite this, or maybe because of this, the pub had a cleaner atmosphere than the winesinks that clustered around the larger docks. The men sitting at the tables around us were for the most part sober, or at least quietly drunk, as they talked to one another over their drinks, and the low murmur of conversation filled the air in a pleasant buzz.

(Don't fall asleep)

/Worry about yourself/ Dart grumbled back, but he did rouse himself enough to watch a group of men who had just entered the pub settle down at a nearby table before closing his eyes again.

I cursed. (Do you think you could keep your eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time?) I demanded.

/I can't help it Ark/ He apologized. /My body needs rest. I can't keep forcing myself to stay awake/

(You can't. I can. Move over) I took Dart's place as he moved aside, and suddenly the vague weariness that I had only been faintly aware of settled in so strongly that for a moment I had to fight not to allow myself to sag over in the chair. Forcing myself upright, I shut my mind of to the tiredness as best I could, and almost instantly things became easier. Using Dart's body like this was something akin to using a puppet: I had total control of his movements, but I could feel little of what it actually felt. From his vantage point Dart grumbled a complaint; forcing the body to work without paying attention to its needs took a toll that he'd have to pay later, but at this stage it made little difference anyway.

Curling my fingers around the handle of my mug, I lifted it to my lips and took a drink, watching the newcomers from the corner of my eye. There were four of them seated around the table, the first two both craggy, weather-beaten men old enough to be grandfathers, and the third man perhaps a few years shy of fifty with thinning, fire-red hair and a sallow face. The forth man sat on an angle facing away from me, though judging from his slight build and the sound of his voice, he could not have been much over twenty.

"...You were supposed to have been gone from port this morning, Allen," the young man was saying. "What kept you?"

One of the older men shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward onto the table. "Hull's damaged. I have to wait until the gravel bar is cleared so I can beach her and get a better look at it. You were lucky you arrived late, Shane. Would have been a shame if your _Blue Wind_ had been caught in the middle of it."

"Was it really that bad?" The young man sat back in his chair as a serving maid brought the drinks to the table. Declining the wine, he reached for the clay jug of water instead. "I've heard a lot of rumors flying around, but I haven't found anyone who could tell me the truth of it."

"Heh, don't bother asking Allen about it then," the red haired man joked, reaching across the table to clap a hand on the older man's shoulder. "His head was so soaked in wine while that monstrosity was running around he probably couldn't have found his own feet!"

Allen shoved the hand away roughly. "Shut your face, Romo. You were probably passed out under a bench somewhere anyway, so you can't talk."

"It was a bar stool, actually," Romo corrected absently, "but that's not really the point. What about you, Micah?"

The final man at the table sat quietly, drinking from a flagon of cheap red wine. He set it down now, watching the play of light on the swirling liquid. The silence hung heavy in the air; at last he pushed away the flagon slowly, the heavy glass scraping across the rough wood of the tabletop. "Aye," he said quietly. "Aye, I saw it."

"Seriously, Micah?" Romo's thin face looked half disbelieving, half impressed. "You sure you didn't just dream it up?"

Micah gave him a flat stare. "I was right there on the waterfront, you idiot. I know what I saw."

Allan set one steadying hand on the man's shoulder. "Easy there, brother. Romo's just playing with you. But you saw it, for true? What did it look like?"

/Ark, we've been listening to these rumors all night/ Dart complained from the recesses of my mind. /They're all wildly inaccurate, or horribly embellished. Just find out if anyone here is leaving for Furni anytime soon and then head back to the inn/

I lifted my mug and took another drink. Yes, so far about all we'd heard all night had been rumors. Still, if the wrong rumors found their way into the ears of any cultists things could become tricky.

After a bit of nudging, the three men managed to prod Micah into giving a fairly accurate description of the virage. "I didn't really see much," he admitted afterward. "Once it started getting close to the ships the docks were chaos, so it was difficult to see much of anything."

"Huh." Romo rubbed his chin with one knuckle. "S'dead now, that's what really matters, I guess. Do they know what killed it?"

Micah shrugged. "The creator Soa riding upon a star-beast. Why are you asking me this Romo? How in hell should I know?"

"I've heard a lot of things," Shane admitted. He was leaning back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. "Mind you, people will tell you anything if they think they know the half of it, but still, I've heard some interesting stuff. Heck, there was even one guy swearing he was out on one of the boats watching the virage when a dragoon landed on the deck in front of him and turned into a beautiful woman."

I looked away, pretending to be interested in a serving maid working at the counter. Wonderful. It should have occurred to me that the sailors still on the ships would have had a clear view of the entire fight. (Damn it. I should have sunk some of those ships out in the harbor while I was at it)

/Is that all you can think of? If ships started sinking after the virage was dead, people would start asking questions. Including Kaelin and Zion/

I started to growl, and then stopped when I realized I was doing it aloud. (All right, I see your point. Still, I wish I had thought of this earlier)

/Ark, as much as I know how you would've loved to try to spend the night sneaking from inn to inn butchering sailors in their beds, I don't really think that's necessary. People will say anything; it doesn't mean anyone will believe them/

(Shut up)

Meanwhile, Romo was laughing again. "Sounds to me like that was one sailor who needs to lay off the rum a bit. I mean, seriously? Dragoons? They haven't been heard of for hundreds of years!"

"Actually, now that you mention it," Allen said, giving Romo a look, "there's been a lot of rumors of dragoons around lately. Apparently the Moon Child had one in her service a while ago, but it disappeared."

"Really? I wouldn't know. I spent the last few months mapping the Gloriano coastline between the Broken Islands and Denningrad before coming back here."

Shane rapped his fingers on the edge of the table, still staring up at the ceiling. "No, it's true. Apparently, he swore allegiance to her in front of the entire city of Fletz. I don't know where he ended up now, but there's talk that she's found herself another one."

'_What?!'_ Dart and I had the same thought simultaneously, and I set my mug down with a bang. The sound was lost amid the other sounds of the room, but I winced and kept my eyes riveted on the tabletop. Another dragoon? Could she really have found one so quickly?

"Seriously, Shane?"

Shane nodded. "I just arrived in port from Doneau. I've got a friend there who's drinking buddies with one of the dread knights that escorted the dragoon to Fletz."

Micah whistled softly. "Now isn't that something. Did it swear allegiance to her yet?"

Shane laughed. "They're going to have some real problems with that part, I think. The dragoon's a mute. They'll have to write out an oath and get the woman to sign it, and only a fool signs an oath without knowing what they're getting into."

"I almost pity them." Romo grinned. "Still, it might be worth seeing. My _Sea Runner_ is heading for Doneau this afternoon. Maybe I'll take a side trip to Fletz when I get there and see if I can't get a look." He chuckled to himself. "Wouldn't that be something to tell my son about. He's crazy about all those old legends about dragoons and winglies."

Abruptly Dart shoved my control aside and replaced me, pushing the mug away and twisting around in the seat so that he was facing the men at the other table. "Excuse me, but did you just say that you're headed for Doneau?"

(What? Dart, what are you doing?)

Dart ignored me. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on Romo who had turned in his chair to look at him with some surprise. "Sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing. It's just that my friends and I have been looking for someone to take us back to the mainland for some time now, but we haven't had much luck."

(Dart!)

/Just shut up a moment, will you?/ Dart snapped back angrily. Startled, I fell silent.

Romo gave him an appraising look, his eyes narrowing as they traveled over his worn clothes and tired face. "Passage to the mainland, huh? I don't usually take on passengers to tell the truth, and frankly mister, you don't exactly look like the sort who can pay the price I'd be asking."

Dart's mouth tightened at the corners, but he reached deep into the interior pockets of his coat and pulled out the wash-leather purse that held the last of our coin. "I can give you this much now. I'll give you as much again once we arrive in port." Tossing the bag to the captain, he watched while the man spilled the coin onto the tabletop and began to count out the pieces. Around the table, the other captains sat up a little straighter, roused by the sight of money. Even Shane stopped staring at the ceiling and sat normally in his chair, looking first from Dart, then to the coin, then to Romo and back to Dart again. He was younger than the other men were; his face was smooth, almost boyish, and his sandy hair fell constantly into his eyes as he watched the exchange.

Inwardly, I frowned. There was something familiar about the intent look on his face; something around the eyes that I couldn't quite place.

"You said you had friends?" Romo scraped the coin into a pile and tucked it back into the bag, but hesitated to hand it back to Dart. "You realize part of your payment would have to be in labor. I'm shorthanded at the moment, as it would happed."

"Hey, Romo, that's hardly fair," Allan interjected, but Dart spoke over him as though he had never spoken at all.

"It doesn't matter to us. Just as long as we can get off of this blasted island. When do you sail?" Dart pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

"Afternoon tide. The ship's name is _Sea Runner_. I warn you though, if you miss the time, I won't be waiting around."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Dart nodded his head, first to Romo, then to the other men at the table. "Gentlemen."

I withheld my questions until Dart had left the pub. The streets had grown busier while we were inside, so Dart was forced to keep close to the shop fronts to avoid being caught up in the hustle of the milling crowd along the docks. The sun was well above the horizon now, partially obscured by woolly clouds; in another half hour or so it would be high noon. If Dart noticed or even cared he gave no sign. He would return to the inn now, to rouse the others and hopefully catch an hour or two of sleep before we had to catch the ship. I could feel the thoughts running through his mind like a river, but for once I held back from touching them and finding out what he was thinking. He would speak his thoughts once he had them sorted out in his own head first. Settling down, I waited patiently for his mood to lighten a bit.

It wasn't until we were well away from the rush and bustle of the waterfront that Dart finally paused to rest, sitting down on a wooden crate in the mouth of a butcher's alley. Leaning against the rough brick wall of the shop at his back he heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. /Sorry/

(You know I don't appreciate these little surprises Dart. Would you mind explaining what you have in mind?)

/Ayrel has the White-Silver/

(I'd gathered as much) I said dryly, then hesitated. Dart's emotions were flickering and shifting like reflections on a rough pond; first anger and then sadness, now regret, then weariness that gave way to more anger. I didn't have to probe any deeper into his thoughts to know whom he was thinking about. Then again, it was hardly surprising: eight hundred years had done little to erase the scars that were left from the deaths of his wife and friends. (Dart, you knew the white-silver would take another bearer. Don't get your self upset over that)

/That's not it/ Dart shook his head, then opened one eye a crack as a cart rumbled past. /Ark, there's no way I'm going to let Ayrel have the White-Silver Dragoon to serve her! It's just not.../

(Not right, I agree) I finished the sentence. Mind you, it's wrong for any dragoon to serve the Moon Child, but I do see your point. But what do you plan on doing? Stealing away the spirit from under her nose? Asalla can feel you coming from a mile away, and without Garren you have no way of getting in and out of there fast enough without a fight

/You'd love that too, wouldn't you?/ Dart grumbled, but I felt his blood quicken at the prospect.

Inwardly, I smiled. Oh, there was no doubt that Dart was wary of Ayrel. And for the time being, there was no way he'd allow for a fight as long as the other dragoons were near. But if the fight were to take place on our terms, under conditions of his choosing...

I fought the urge to laugh, finally beginning to see the glimmer of what might be a final solution. As long as Zion, Kaelin, and the others remained nearby, Dart would be content to run. But if there was a chance that the fight could be isolated, with no chance of intervention, he would be every bit as eager to face Ayrel as I was.

/What's so funny?/ Dart asked suspiciously, sensing my amusement. /I don't really see what's so funny about the situation/

This time, I really did laugh. (Oh, don't worry Dart. Trust me, you'll see it soon enough. Just give me some time to iron out the fine details, and I'll share it with you. In the mean time, why don't you get off your ass and head back to the inn? The children will be wondering where you've been all night)

/You'd better be serious/ He muttered, sliding off of the crate.

(Trust me, Dart. Just trust me)

**Cai's POV:**

"The captain says that we should make port sometime this afternoon."

I took my head out of my hands and looked up from where I sat next to the rail. Kaelin stood over me, wrapped head to toe in a long brown cloak that offered some protection against the cutting ocean winds. For the moment at least, she had thrown back the hood that had shielded her face and was watching me with a grin. "Are you sick or something? If the captain finds you sitting around like this, he'll put you back to work for sure."

I looked around at the mention of the captain, but he was nowhere in sight. In fact the only crewmember that I could see was one of the deckhands, facing in the opposite direction as he cast a thick line into the wake off the stern from the bow. Twice now he'd drawn in the line with a fish hooked as long as my arm, but aside from that, most of his casts came back empty. Glancing back up at Kaelin, I shook my head. "I don't get seasick."

She straightened up again, rocking back and forth on her heels with the motion of the ship. "That's good. I think Zion's giving up on eating; he can't hold anything down in this weather."

"Too bad for him, I guess. Where's Solana?"

"In the kitchens, helping the cook with dinner. I don't know what she thinks she can do down there; cookie's banned her from doing anything but peeling potatoes." The wind tugged a corner of Kaelin's cloak free from her grip and for a moment it flapped wildly, snapping and shuddering like a struggling bird. And then she caught it again, pulling the heavy cloak closed around her once more. "You should be below. It's not like you have to stay out here and freeze, you know."

I shrugged. "I like fresh air. It's too close down in the cabins for my taste." Putting my hands to the damp deck, I pushed myself to my feet. "Besides, I don't think I trust myself around Ry at the moment."

Kaelin laughed. "I don't think any of us do, but that's beside the point."

I smiled slightly, but it didn't last long. Turning around, I leaned against the rail to watch the coast roll by. The northern fringes of Tiberoa were nothing like the arid interior of the country; here the shore was bordered by rolling grassland and the occasional stand of hardwoods, their grey limbs all but naked as the last of their leaves drifted to the ground on the chill autumn wind. The coastline itself was rocky and inhospitable; the ocean waves beating in vain against slab-sided boulders and partially submerged shoals, churning the water into white foam as it boiled out from cracks and gaps between the stones. The sky overhead was clear save for a wisp of cloud drifting along the western horizon, and with the sun at our backs it was the Moon that filled the sky, pale and wan in the daylight. I watched it all slide past to be replaced by more of the same, filled with a comforting sense of familiarity. I had been raised on one of the King's stud farms only a few miles inland of the coast, and much of my boyhood had been spent on horseback, exploring every twist and curve of the shore.

Lost in memory, I was surprised when Kaelin came to the rail to stand next to me, still holding her cloak tightly about her. "So," she said quietly, "what do you think?"

I glanced over at her. She was watching the waves slapping against the hull of the boat without much interest as the wind tousled her uneven hair, turning what had previously been an artful mess into a hopeless tangle. There was really no need to ask what she wanted my opinion on. If it hadn't been spoken, it had been on all of our minds since we had left Fueno a few days previous.

"What do I think?" I repeated slowly, watching a gull drift by on motionless wings. "I think it's crazy. It's going to be difficult enough moving around in Tiberoa without being noticed; going straight into Fletz, the seat of the temple's power, well..."

"Seems like a fool's mission, I know." Kaelin glanced over at me. "So what's holding you back? Now that you have a spirit, I was almost positive that you'd take Solana and jump ship."

"This is a fool's mission," I snorted. "But then again, I suppose I'm an even bigger fool for staying around. I want to leave, but at the same time..."

"You don't see where else you can go." She finished.

I grunted. "Even if we did have somewhere to go, I don't think I could convince Solana to leave now. She was very much against the way the Child's last dragoon was controlled, in private if not publicly, and the idea of it happening all over again to someone else seems to have sparked something inside her. I think it reminds her of how easily that person could have been her, if we hadn't made it out of Tiberoa in time." I looked away. "And the worst part is, if this whole thing falls apart, it still could be her."

"You really think so?" Kaelin asked softly. "We've all got our own reasons, but none of us really wants to end up in the hands of the temple. Even if this does come apart at the seams like you said, neither of you really fancies being on the end of a leash. If Zion gets caught, about all he has to look forward to is a block of oak and a headsman's axe. And me, well..." She pulled her cloak tighter around her body, and for a moment she looked almost vulnerable. "I've got problems of my own to worry about. If this does fall apart, we'll just have to fight our way out of it."

"You really think we could do that? What if that means facing the Moon Child? As much as the temples have done, well...she's the Moon Child. How could you count her as our enemy?"

For a long moment Kaelin was silent, watching the coast slide by without expression. "I thought of that, once. It took me a while, but I think I found my answer. Whatever the temples have been doing, it is the Moon Child that wants the dragoons, right? Now, don't get me wrong; I believe in the gods and whatnot as much as the next woman. But if this Moon Child is going to stick a halter on me and set bounds on me simply for the sake of controlling me, then I don't really think that she's really the sort of deity I want to serve. Soa never asked that of me, so I don't think I'll be converting to this child-god any time soon. I spent too long getting my freedom for someone else to take it away from me again." Her eyes hardened. "Far too long."

"I see." I glanced over at the lone sailor at the back of the boat. His line had gone taught, and he was wrestling with all his strength against whatever was on the other end. "So that's why you came along with Ry?"

"Not exactly." She shrugged. "He had the spirits, and seemed to know what to do with them. It was more for something to do, at first."

"At first?"

She sighed and stepped back from the rail. "I don't know what it is, really. There's just something about him that..." she waved her hand from under the cloak, searching for the words. "I'm not sure what you'd call it. It's not charisma, and he definitely wouldn't leap to mind as a travel companion. It's just...I don't know. He's like one of those little puzzles children play with. Just when I think I've got him figured out something happens, or he says something, or he does something, and everything I thought I knew flies out the window." She frowned, staring off into the middle distance. "I used to be very good with puzzles, especially when people are the pieces. But no matter which way I look at him, he's the one piece I can't figure out how to make fit."

"Puzzles? You're risking your life because you can't figure him out?" I couldn't help but stare. Between her and Zion, I had always pegged her as the more sensible of the two, but...

She turned her head to look at me, one eyebrow arched. "Well? What about you? I can see at least a hundred things that could go wrong with his plan, but you haven't even so much as said a word against him. The way you're usually so eager to go at his throat, I would have thought you'd have been all over that in an instant."

I opened my mouth to answer, and then stopped. Yes, it was true that Ry's plan had its flaws. Gaping holes, more like it. I'd spent most of my life serving in and around Fletz and the palace; I could think of a hundred easier ways of going about this, with less chance of being discovered or caught as well. And yet...

Kaelin must have noticed, because the corners of her mouth began to twitch, resisting a smile. "You see what I mean?"

"He's just so damn sure of himself!" I exploded, pushing myself back from the rail. "If he were just that little hesitant, then maybe but..." I trailed off as Kaelin burst out laughing. Reaching out with one hand she clapped me on the shoulder, the wind ripping the cloak out of her arms so that it waved like a banner from where it was fastened around her neck.

"See what I mean?" She grinned, pulling her hand off of my shoulder. "I don't trust him completely as a person, but I can't help but trust him on things like this. He's good. Now if you don't mind, I think I'm gonna head below and see if the kitchen's got anything ready to eat yet. I'm hungry." Still smiling, she turned and left, her steps swaying with the motion of the ship as she made her way along the length of the bulge of the cabin and out of sight.

After she was gone, I resumed my vigil at the rail. The wind didn't slacken, but as the ship changed course slightly the bulge of the cabin roof protected me from the worst of it. The coastline slipping rapidly past was intimately familiar now; another few miles and Doneau would come into sight. It was there that the game would start, though it wouldn't really begin in truth for Solana and I until we reached Fletz.

Dangerous. It was all too dangerous.

And yet, at the same time...

**Zion's POV:**

I don't usually travel into Tiberoa. Most of the decent fighting tournaments take place in Serdio, and anyway, anywhere north of Hoax was really too far to travel as long as I was worried about supporting Remmy and Tabby back in Kazas. In fact the last time I had come to Tiberoa I had still been small enough that I was sharing a horse with my brother. My memories of the country were rather sketchy as a result, but in the days following our departure from Doneau, I saw nothing to indicate that anything had changed since my last visit. Tiberoa was hot, dry, and dusty. Tiberoa would always be hot, dry, and dusty. True, the heat was diminished somewhat with the onset of the cooler seasons, but about all that changed about the situation was that it was unseasonably warm, in stead of unreasonably hot.

Since Ry had spent the last of our coin on the crossing from Doneau, we left the city on foot. At first it hadn't seemed so bad; after the days spent cooped up on the ship in rough weather anything had been a welcome change. After three days spent trekking through the seemingly endless barrens, though, walking had lost most of its appeal. Tired, hot, and footsore, we trudged along an old wagon track that wound through the rocky landscape like a snake trying to slough its skin. The sun was low in the western horizon, painting the sky brilliant orange while on the earth below shadows lengthened and blended with one another in a semblance of darkness. Three days of walking had put us within a stone's throw of Fletz, but it wasn't to the city that we were headed; at least, not yet. Somewhere in these hills was nestled Solana and Cai's country estate, and though we were close to the city, Solana had vouched for its safety, as long as we didn't linger for too long.

Walking along the road in a broken cluster, Solana and Cai walked at the head of the groups, their heads close together as they talked with one another in low voices. Every now and then a word of what they were saying would drift back to my ears, but for the most part it was pitched not to carry. Kaelin wandered along at the back of the group with her saber drawn, watching the shadows between the rocks suspiciously as we passed. The barrens, we had discovered, were infested with monsters of every shape and description, few of them pleasant. We had all gotten some practice in with our spirits, even Cai, whose only weapon was a long belt knife.

Ry and I walked in the middle of the group, swords loosened in their sheaths. Since my old sword had been broken and lost during the fight with the virage I had picked up a replacement of sorts, although it was hardly two thirds the length of my other. Using a regular sword again after all of these years felt strange; privately, I hoped Solana had a blacksmith or armorer somewhere on that estate of hers.

As if thinking her name had caught her attention somehow, she broke off her conversation with Cai and turned her head to look back at us. "It's not much farther now. We should be at the gates in another half hour or so."

"Great." Kaelin's voice floated up from the back of the column. "I hope you have quick servants, Solana. I could really, _really_ use a good long bath right now."

"I think we all could." Stretching out my hand in front of me, I peered at my grime-covered skin in the half-light. "How long do you plan on us hanging around there, Ry? We're going to need rest if we're going to do anything half as drastic as you say."

Ry trudged along beside me; his heavy oilskin coat slung over one shoulder in an attempt to escape the heat. "A day, maybe two. We can't afford much more than that, though. If things seem safe enough, we do it tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?" Cai turned to look at us over one shoulder, his blond hair tinged red from the dust that had settled into it that day. "That soon?"

"It has to be soon, otherwise it'll never work. The longer we stay here, the faster word will leak out about your 'guests'." Ry shook his head. "No, we're going to have to be in, out, and gone again as quick as possible. The last thing we need is a troop of guardsmen stopping people at the city gates because someone managed to give them a warning."

Cai seemed satisfied with this, and turned to face forward again. I glanced over at Ry, keeping pace alongside him. "So what's the plan again? Solana and Cai get us into the palace so that we can look for the white-silver, we convince her to come with us or whatever, and sneak her back out of the palace?"

"That's over simplifying it, but yes, that would be the gist of it." Ry slung his coat off of his shoulder and began to pull it back on. "They'll get you and Kaelin into the palace. That won't be particularly difficult if we toss some armor on you and call you a bodyguard. Kaelin might be a bit more of a challenge, but worse come to worse I'm sure that woman is more than capable of finding her way in on her own. They'll pretend to seek an audience with one of the minor nobles, which should give the two of you enough time to find out where they're keeping the white-silver and find a way to talk to her. Convince her to come with us if you can, get word to Cai and Solana, and come back here. If all goes well, you should be well out of it by midnight."

I mulled this over for a minute or two, turning it over in my mind. "What do we do if it turns out that she really is loyal to the temples? The dragoon, I mean."

For a long moment Ry walked beside me in silence. When he spoke again, his voice was soft so that I doubted that anyone else overheard. "We can't let that happen. Knock her on the head and fly her out of there if you have to, but don't leave her behind. Whatever happens, we can't let the temples have another dragoon."

"What about you? Somehow I can't see you leaving yourself out of all this fun."

"I've got my own job to do." The faintest hint of a smile appeared briefly on his lips, and then was gone again. "It's probably for the best if you don't know too much about it. I can guarantee you though, it'll make you're job a hundred times easier."

"You sure?"

The smile flickered back again, ghostly in the fading light. "Trust me, Zion. I'm absolutely positive."

* * *

Ritual apology: Sorry for the lateness.

Ritual excuse: I wrote three different beginnings to the chapter. That means I essentially blew time writing six pages I never actually used before actually getting to work on the chapter as it stands now. XP Wow, I suck.


	50. Conflict

What do you guys have to thank for this chapter getting up? Guilt and an unplanned school cancellation. What don't you have to thllhwelaaaaa…

Dart: -_Comes over and reads the above message. He frowns, then turns to look at Shade who is sitting perched on the edge of her bed with a PS2 controller in hand-_ Shade? You said you were working on this!

Shade: _-Brain has been sucked out by Star Ocean: TTEOT, so she continues to stare at the screen, mashing buttons like a zombie-_ Ne?

Dart: You didn't even make it through the author's note, you lazy wench!

Shade: _-Cannot move, on account of the fact that her entire body is cramped into position-_

Yup. Shade's found a new addiction. Another one. Actually, I'm kind of disappointed with myself. I only managed to put 34 hours of saved gameplay (probably 38, if you count all the unsaved blunders) on it in four or five days. –_smacks self-_ Bad Shade. I suppose school does get in the way, but still…

Alright… onto the obligatory answer section:

Dark Guradian Dragon: Lessee…how did this go? Oh yes. In the immortal words of Shike77, NO WORSHIPPING! :P Makes me paranoid, it does.

Dragonlord- Three beginnings? Oh yes. I baby this story. Incidentally, there was a similar escapade this chapter as well. O.o Wraiths? The wraiths are mindless, soulless creatures that don't particularly belong in the realm of the dead, so whenever possible, they look for a way to slip into the world of the living. Since Mayfil is…I'll say 'broken' for lack of a better term…they're finding ways to slip out into Endiness. Fortunately for the dragoons and co., they seem to be content stripping the mountains bare around the dead city. They shouldn't be venturing out into the populated continent…yet.

Namiel- An AU sidestory where Ark ran around killing the sailors in their beds? I'm sure Ark would love it, but I think I'll stick with the planned sidestories. I've got enough alternate directions this story could go swimming around in my head at the moment; any more, and my head might go BANG.

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**Solana's POV:**

I took a sip of tea, frowning over the rim of the cup at the dusty volume I held propped up against my knees. _No, that can't be right. _Annoyed, I flipped back a page or two, careful not to damage the crackling sheets of parchment. There, halfway down the page. Setting down my tea, I picked up the ancient book in both hands, squinting slightly as I struggled to make out the faded script. It was an old copy of _The Assorted Histories of Endiness_- so old that hardly anyone ever bothered to take it down off of the shelf any more, for fear it might come apart in their hands. However…

A strand of hair fell across my eyes, and I reached up to tuck it back behind my ear. Nowadays, most books to be obtained with information concerning the Moon Temples had a definite bias, thanks to aspiring authors trying to work their way into the favor of the priests. If one really wanted to find the real story, they had to look through books like these, written before the Temple's rise to power.

I scanned through the paragraph, reading it aloud to myself as I went. "The Cult of the Moon Child, more commonly known today as the Temple of the Moon Child, has enjoyed a substantial period of growth over the past few decades. Originally founded by a group of Tiberoian evangelists, the Temples are fiercely dedicated to the protection of the Moon Child and the furthering of the ideals and purpose that the Child stands for. Though to date, no known child has ever survived the ravages of the Black Monster, the Temples have risen to a considerable stature, and many speculate that it may one day rival or surpass the power and influence of the other major religions of Endiness."

I lowered the book to my knees again. It was hand-written, unlike the books appearing in shops during the past ten years, which had been printed by giant wooden type presses. This book was far from new; it was in fact a copy of another, older version of a book taken from the National Library of Mille Seseau.

_'Still,'_ I thought, re-reading the paragraph again, _'Most of the books written now aren't even halfway as interesting. And that bit about the 'cult' of the Moon Child…'_ I frowned. Why did that sound so familiar?

With a sigh I closed the book, resting one hand on the cracked leather cover. I didn't really have any reason to be plowing through old volumes like this one; after a near-sleepless night spent tossing and turning next to a snoring Cai, my eyes felt dry and sore. Reading certainly didn't help matters any in that respect. But I needed something to keep my mind from dwelling on tonight's plans; Soa knew, last night's insomnia had provided me with more than enough time to fret over that. And so I had spent the morning holed up in my private library, settled in an overstuffed armchair pulled close to the unlit fireplace that occupied the far corner of the little room.

I looked around fondly. The 'library' might have been better described as a study, but habit born from growing up in a very large house in the middle of Fletz dictated that it was, in fact, a library. My library, if truth were told; the only time that I ever saw Cai pick up a book was to use it as a coaster for his mug of tea. Most of the books here had been taken from my family's considerable collection, although over the years I had managed to accumulate a fair number on my own. Standing on shelves and stacked on tables, there was no real order to their arrangement; humor sat beside history and medical texts could often be found beside folded maps and epic romances. The shelves were arranged against the walls, and the center of the room was occupied by short, waist-high bookcases and a solid oak table that could hardly be seen for the mess of paper that covered it. The floor was bare of carpets and rugs, save for the small woven mat that lay at the foot of my armchair, next to the bare hearth of the cold fireplace. It was comfortable, in a close sort of way, and on days when the dust wasn't bad enough to bother me, I would often enter early in the morning and not come out until late at night.

I smiled to myself as I got to my feet to put the book away. If Cai thought it was odd, he never mentioned it. After all, he spent much of his time down in the stables, overseeing the training of this or that young animal.

I had just slipped my book back onto its place on the shelf when there was a light tap on the door. "It's open," I called, wiping my hands on my skirt. The dust was getting thick again; I'd have to speak to the maids about having the room aired out.

Kaelin slipped quietly into the room, closing the door again behind her. "Morning, Solana. Cai told me you'd probably be in here."

"He must be psychic." I smiled again, folding my arms over my chest. "Did you sleep well?"

"Passably." Kaelin shrugged. "With all of this travelling, I think my body's forgotten what a real bed feels like. I ended up sleeping on the floor. You?"

"Not too badly," I lied. "I had a lot on my mind."

She made a face. "I know what you mean. I saw Zion walking around when I went to get a bun from the kitchens this morning; he looks like a zombie. He'll probably find some out of the way place later on though and doze for a bit. He never looses sleep for long."

"That's good. So the rooms were to your liking?"

"They were fine. Ahh, do you mind if I look around for a bit?" Kaelin asked, gesturing at the shelves. "There's something that's been bothering me."

"Oh?" I waited for her to elaborate, but all she did was give a vague 'thanks' before heading to the nearest shelf, running her fingers over the spines as she read the titles quietly to herself.

Returning to my chair, I picked up my cup and took another sip of tea. It was starting to cool off. I'd have to have another pot made soon. I sipped at it again, then changed my mind and drained it all in one gulp. I didn't like cold tea anyway.

When we'd arrived late last night, the house had awoken in a flurry of activity. Cai and I had been absent for nearly a month; during that time several of our servants had left, though Ira and Mosa, the two heads of house, had kept them from taking anything with them. Somehow, between staving off questions, making excuses and giving orders to the staff, we'd managed to get everyone settled into their rooms with a meal and a hot bath. No one had mentioned our plans for tonight, not even between ourselves. Personally, I was thankful. The time for action would come soon enough; no need to dwell on the matter until then.

A knock came at the door again, though this time the caller entered of their own accord. Maria was a thin stick of a woman, lean as a rail while at the same time taller than most men were. Her iron-grey hair was braided and coiled about her temples like a coronet, but it did nothing to soften the hard, angular lines of her face. She dipped a perfunctory curtsy in my direction, not a hair lower than my rank dictated she must, before clearing her throat and speaking.

"My lady, there's someone here from the capitol to see you. I told her your ladyship was still recovering from your journey, but she insists that it's urgent." Maria glanced sideways at Kaelin, noticing her for the first time. "I don't think it would be wise to keep her waiting."

I rose to my feet. "A messenger? Already?"

Maria nodded. "Your family in Fletz was concerned about your absence, so we sent a message out to them last night shortly after you arrived. I assume that this is related, somehow."

"You assume. Where is the messenger waiting?" I started across the room to the door.

"Olan had her wait in the sitting room next to your apartments. Should I have refreshments prepared?" She asked, holding the door open for me as I passed.

"Please." I stopped and turned around. "Kaelin? Feel free to look around as long as you want, but please be careful. Some of the older volumes haven't been touched for some time, and they may be quite fragile."

Kaelin looked up from the book she held open in one hand, her other resting on the edge of the bookshelf. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sure. Enjoy yourself."

"I'm sure," I murmured, stepping out the door into the hall.

The sitting room where the messenger awaited me was at the north end of the house, so I dismissed Maria to the kitchens and headed there alone. It didn't take long to reach it; situated at the far end of the third floor, it adjoined to a balcony looking over the mountains to the east. The messenger was waiting for me when I entered, a young woman of perhaps twenty or so.

"My Lady Solana," the messenger said politely, rising smoothly from her chair to greet me. "I hope I didn't pull you away from anything too urgent."

"Nothing that I can't deal with later," I replied, studying the other woman as she settled back into her seat. Tall and solid, with long red hair pulled back from her face in a loose braid, there was a slight angularity and natural tan to her features that marked her as an immigrant from Rouge. Her dark breeches and knee-high boots were stained with dust from travel, and her scarlet blouse was creased with wear. She had been riding hard, then. "And you would be…?"

"Amaya, my Lady." Her voice was low and husky, and she spoke in precise, clipped tones. "I don't normally serve out of the castle Fletz, but my master saw fit to lend me to the Queen for this task."

"I see." Behind me the sitting room door was bumped open and Maria entered, carrying a tray of candied fruits and tea. She set it carefully on the table between us before bobbing a curtsy and leaving, leaving the door open a crack as she left. Pouring myself a cup of tea, I pushed the tray toward Amaya. "The Queen's work? I assume this is a summons, then."

She waved the tray away. "Her majesty wishes to have an audience with you and your lord husband tonight. I was told nothing, but I assume that this concerns the…unfortunate events surrounding the loss of the Temple's wind dragoon. She would have you in the audience chamber during the third hour after sundown, but I would advise arriving early. Her majesty has become decidedly interested in the matter, and she may choose to see you earlier." Amaya leaned back in her chair, pushing a handful of flyaway strands back from her eyes.

"Really." I took another sip. "For a messenger, you seem to know quite a bit about the goings on in the higher levels of the court."

The other woman shrugged. "It's not difficult, if you know how to keep your ears open and listen." She shifted. "Would my Lady be offended if I were to speak frankly?"

I smiled wryly. "I think you'd find that it takes quite a bit to offend me nowadays, Amaya. Go ahead, speak your mind."

She inclined her head. "Thanks." She said, dropping the formal tone she had been using before. "Over the past few weeks, your absence in the court has become something of a point of interest among the other courtiers. If I were you, I'd watch myself."

_Watch myself?_ To cover my confusion, I reached for an apple slice. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Amaya. I don't have anything to hide."

"Indeed." Her face remained impassive, but I thought I saw something flicker behind her pale grey eyes. "Even so, one month is a long time for an unexplained absence. Whether there was anything to it or not, some people will see something in it. Besides," she added, reaching down to pick up her cloak from where it lay on the floor before getting to her feet, "we all have our little secrets. It would be a shame if someone were to stumble across something you'd rather keep in the dark. Now, if you'll excuse me. I've been away from my duties at the palace for too long." She dipped her head, a gesture that came closer to a bow than a curtsy. "By your leave, my lady." And with that she swept out of the room, settling her cloak about her shoulders as she left.

I sat staring at the table without seeing, listening to the sound of her footsteps fading away down the hall. My mouth had gone dry; I suddenly felt as though someone had poured hot desert sand on my tongue. She knew. Dear gods, she _knew_.

It took me a moment to snap out of my daze. Setting down my cup of tea, I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. Wishing they would stop, I reached for a scrap of paper and a pen sitting on the edge of the table and began scribbling a hasty message. "Maria," I called, relieved to find my voice steady. "Maria!"

The maid appeared in the doorway. "My lady?"

"I need you to send this to Gail Vidal immediately_." …this evening. I'll be in the palace, _I wrote. Finishing the message, I waved the scrap of paper around in the air to dry the ink. "Use one of Cai's birds to deliver it. And have someone find Master Ry and send him here. Tell him it's urgent. Understand?"

"Perfectly, my Lady." Taking the message from my outstretched had, she bobbed a curtsy and was gone, leaving me alone in the sitting room.

With a sigh that verged on a groan, I leaned back in my chair. Vidal had taken care of…delicate matters for my family for decades. If anyone could root out who this Amaya really was, it would be him. Still… I rubbed my temples with my fingertips, wishing that Maria would hurry up and find Ry.

Things were not looking up at all.

**Zion's POV:**

The sun was high overhead, beating down on the courtyard like a fiery hammer. My boots scuffed the dusty ground as I slouched across it, keeping my eyes downcast rather than look at the buildings around me. They had all been whitewashed to help keep out the sun's heat, but the thick white mortar reflected back the sun's light with an intensity that made my eyes ache to look. Here and there stable boys and servants lounged in the shade under the overhanging roofs of the lower buildings, enjoying their midday meal and a brief respite from the heat. The quiet drone of conversation filled the air, a lazy murmur to my ears. Even here in Tiberoa, where there was no such thing as winter, or even real cold, the heat of midday seemed to slow all activity to a crawl.

I yawned, and lifted my eyes slightly to see where I was headed. The stable. _'As good a place as any,' _I decided. Last night hadn't been an easy one, and the relentless heat made my eyelids droop. At least now I was sure I was tired enough that as long as I could find an out of the way place to lie down and rest, I could get some decent sleep without a whirlwind of nervous thoughts keeping me awake. We weren't due to leave for several hours yet, in the very least, so I had enough time to get some sleep.

The shadow of the stable's peaked roof fell across my path, and the midday warmth retreated somewhat. The large double doors of the building had been thrown open hopes of tempting in a breeze, and the heavy scent of horses and hay hung heavy on the air. Inside it was shady and cool, a broad aisle lined on either side by large wooden stalls. Birds flitted through the rafters overhead, watched by a large yellow barn cat that followed their every movement avidly with wide green eyes.

I straightened up a little bit. There were no stable hands to be seen; they were all outside enjoying their lunch with the other servants. There was, however, a slim ladder at the far end of the barn that looked to lead up into the hayloft that was built atop the rafters. Fighting back another yawn, I started down the row towards it.

"I couldn't bother you for a bit of help, could I?"

I started, swearing. A young woman with long red hair stood in the shadows of the stall I had just passed, strapping a halter on the head of a large dun horse that had backed himself into the corner of the stall. Snapping a lead onto the animal, she glanced back over her shoulder at me. "The door. Could you get it? He'll throw a fit if it swings shut on him when I take him out."

I blinked. "Uh…sure." Pulling the door open, I held it until she had lead the horse through. Shutting it again, I turned around only to find her standing in front of me, offering me the end of the rope.

"Hold him a minute, would you?" Thrusting the lead into my hands, she disappeared down the aisle into a side room that had been set apart from the other stalls.

I looked down at the lead rope, then up at the horse, which had turned his head to regard me with one flat, unfriendly eye. '_She must think I'm one of the stable boys,'_ I realized. She couldn't be one of Solana's servants, then. So who…?

The woman reappeared, carrying a heavy saddle with a bridle slung over her shoulder. "Watch him while I tack him. Giro has an evil temper, and he likes to bite a bit sometimes." She hefted the saddle, preparing to sling it over the animal's back. Giro, the horse, rolled his eyes back to watch her, pinning his ears against the crest of his neck.

"Hey!" I protested, taking a step back. "Shouldn't you get one of the stable boys? I don't even-"

"-Don't even work here, yes, I know." She lowered the saddle to rest on her foot and turned to face me. "As a rule, the Lady Solana only employs locals. You're too tall to be a Tiberoian, and your skin's too fair besides." She put one slim hand on her hip, looking me up and down. My skin prickled and I looked away, uncomfortable under the intensity of that pale eyed stare.

Giro snorted and tried to push past me, shoving my chest hard with his shoulder. Glad for the distraction, I grabbed him by the halter and wrestled him back into position while I tried to think up an excuse. "I…I met up with them last night. I was lost out in the barrens, and they offered me a place to stay for the night." Giro bared his teeth at me and I jerked on the lead sharply, watching his large, flat teeth warily. When he seemed to have settled down again, I looked back at the woman. "I'm not really comfortable staying around here, though. Soon as I get the chance, I'm continuing on to Fletz."

"Really." She cocked her head to one side. "What's your name, if you'll allow me to ask."

I shrugged. "You just did," I replied lightly, but an alarm had gone off in the back of my mind. Why should she care what my name was? Of course, she was probably just curious, but there was something about the way she was looking at me that was making me nervous. "My name? It's …uh, it's Reon. Reon Aldas." I busied myself with the lead rope again, not trusting myself to look her directly in the eye. Would she fall for it?

For a moment I was sure that she wouldn't. Had I hesitated too long? But then she spoke, repeating the name slowly, as though trying it out. "…Reon." Unexpectedly, one corner of her mouth twitched upward in a half smile. "I like that." Bending over, she hefted the saddle up into her arms again. "My name's Amaya, if you're interested. I'm a messenger from Fletz."

"A messenger?" Giro started to take another step forward as the weight of the saddle settled onto his back, and I set my weight against the lead shank to hold him in place. Just a messenger, then. I relaxed a little bit. Only a bit, though.

"Yes." Reaching under the horse's belly, she caught the girth and pulled it up, buckling it onto the billets underneath the saddle flap. "The Queen's calling a session of the royal court later on this evening in the palace. I was delivering a summons to your hosts."

"Oh." I rubbed my forehead. "This evening?"

Amaya nodded, patting her horse's neck absently. "The Anlade's have been missed in the royal court of late. The other courtiers were starting to become curious about what could have been keeping them away from their duties."

I forced a laugh, although it sounded flat in my own ears. "They probably just felt like getting away from it all for a while. Courtiers or not, they're only human."

"Only human…" There was no change in her expression, but there was something about her voice that sent a chill like cold fingers down my spine. Then Amaya took the reins out of my hands and I stepped back out of the way, waiting for her to lead Giro out of the barn.

She didn't move. "You said that you were going to head to Fletz, yes? It wouldn't hurt for you to travel with the Anlades when they leave later on this afternoon. Lord Cai is more than capable of handling any of the monsters they'd be liable to encounter on the road, but it wouldn't hurt for them to have someone else watching their back, if you catch my meaning."

"Uh, yeah…I guess so." I scratched my head, trying to think of something to say. "You said you're from Fletz? Maybe I'll see you later." I almost grimaced. Jeez, that sounded corny. I mean, even if I had wanted to find her, the chances of finding one woman in an entire city full of people made the statement sound even more stupid. But if she thought so, or even cared, Amaya gave no sign.

"Perhaps," She said, the ghost of a smile chasing her features. Reaching up, she patted me lightly on the cheek with one slim hand. "Fletz, then. I look forward to meeting you again Reon Aldas. Whatever that might bring." And with that she was gone, leading her mount past me and out the door into the sunlight.

I stood in the center of the barn aisle, more than a little confused. _'"Whatever that might bring"…What the hell did she mean by that?'_ I reached up and raked the hair back from my face. And patting me on the cheek like that…who in Soa's name was she anyway? Muttering to myself, I started toward the ladder again, hoping I still could find some time to sleep.

It was perhaps five minutes later that someone came rushing into the barn, boots drumming against the hard-packed earthen floor. I opened my eyes and rolled over to look down through the gap in the hayloft where the ladder stuck through the floor. Ry was looking into each of the stalls, muttering under his breath as he did so. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but judging from the dark expression he wore, I decided that I probably didn't want to. Pulling my head back out of the hole, I swung my feet around onto the ladder and began to climb down.

"Ry? Something up?"

"Zion?" Ry stopped by the stall that Amaya had taken her horse out of, and his frown deepened. "Did anyone come in here?"

I dropped to the barn floor. "A few minutes ago, yeah. Why?"

Ry growled something I didn't quite catch, then spoke in a normal tone. "Solana just had an audience with someone who claimed to be a messenger from Fletz. Whoever she was, she gave her a very blatant warning not to tell anyone what she might have been doing over the last few weeks."

"Amaya?" I said, surprised, and Ry gave me a sharp look.

"That's what she called herself. Was she here?"

"Yeah, like I said, a few minutes ago." I pointed to the stall. "She tacked up her horse and took off about five minutes before you came in."

This time, Ry's oath was clearly audible. "Wonderful. And I suppose she got a good look at you too, right?"

I nodded, unconsciously reaching up to touch the cheek that she'd patted so casually. Then I stopped, my fingertips lightly tracing the ragged paths of scar tissue that stretched from my brow to my chin. I swallowed, though the spit was like a leaden lump in my throat. If what Ry said was true…

Ry snorted and turned, speaking back to me over his shoulder. "Five minutes ago, you said?"

"What?" I let my hand fall. "Oh, yeah. About that long ago."

"Five minutes." He strode away, the hem of his cloak fluttering gently in his wake. "There still might be time, then."

"Ry?" I took a half step after him, then stopped. "What…?"

His long strides didn't falter. "Go back into the house and find the others. Either way, I shouldn't be long. We leave for Fletz as soon as I return, understand?"

I started to reply, but the words died on my tongue. Ry continued out the door into the sunlight and was gone, the heavy implications of his words lingering in his absence.

It didn't take long to find the others. Solana was in her apartments, looking slightly pale as she paced the length of the room. As nervous as she might have been though, she gave no indication of surprise when I repeated Ry's instructions to her. I found Kaelin lurking in a hallway on the bottom floor, looking unusually pensive and withdrawn as she fingered a thin scroll of embroidered cloth hanging from an otherwise bare wall. If something was troubling her, however, she made it clear that she wasn't about to share. She listened to me long enough to get the gist of the message and then was gone, leaving me alone to track down the last member of our little group.

I found Cai in an empty courtyard out back of the stables. This surprised me. The last place I had expected to find anyone was out under the heat of the sun, especially when everyone else had been so concerned with resting. Stripped to the waist with an axe in either hand, the burly Tiberoian was busily reducing a large burlap practice dummy to shreds in the center of the yard. He stepped back to take a breather as I approached, setting down his weapons and wiping sweat from his brow with the back of one grimy hand.

"'Afternoon."

He grunted and squinted at the sky. "Close enough, I suppose. What'd you bother coming out here for? I would have thought you'd be inside enjoying the shade."

"Speak for yourself." I reached down and plucked up one of his axes, hefting it. It was a light thing, the single head balanced by a downward curving spike opposite the blade. I turned it over in my hand, noting the worn leather strapping the haft and the dark, stained wood. Light, but well used. "You think you'll need these in Fletz?" I asked.

"You never know."

"Hey, I wasn't joking."

"Neither was I." Cai took the weapon back from me and held it out sideways in front of him, watching the sun gleam off the steel with some satisfaction. "I used to use these toys back when I was in the guard. It was always mandatory that we used lances while we were mounted, but once the shaft broke, I always ended up falling back on these."

"Both of them?" I glanced down at the second axe, resting at his feet.

Cai shrugged. "I'm a good rider. The horses we rode were trained off of the leg more so than the reins anyway. Almost all that we ever had to worry about were small pockets and gangs of robbers out in the barrens, so we usually spent more time running them down than fighting them."

"Ah. So that's why you're out here?"

"It never hurts to brush up on old skills." He picked up the other axe. "You didn't come out here for nothing, though. What's going on?"

I filled him in as briefly as I could about Solana and Amaya, and Ry going after her. Cai listened patiently at first, but his face darkened when I told him about Ry. "Damned fool," He muttered. "Does he actually think he can catch up to a horse on foot?"

I shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder if even Ry himself knows what he's thinking. He's like two different people, sometimes. Oh, incidentally, as soon as he gets back, we're heading to Fletz. You might want to think about getting yourself ready."

Cai grunted and turned back to the dead-looking dummy. I tried not to let out my breath too loudly. Cai had never quite forgotten Ry's hard words back in the inn in Fueno, and though he seemed to have relaxed whatever grudge he might have had against me, he still grew grim at the mention of the swordsman's name.

"What about you?"

"What?" I looked up. Cai was squinting at me, measuring me up.

"You can't just walk into the palace like you are." He rubbed his unshaven chin with his thumb, thinking. "We'll have to get you in some armor if we're going to pass you off as a bodyguard. We don't customarily employ them, so you might get a few odd looks, but you'll be able to move around the palace easier after we dismiss you." Setting down his axes again, he retrieved his shirt from where it lay on the ground a short distance away. "Come on. We may as well do that now, while we have the time."

It was late afternoon before Ry returned. I met him as he was crossing the courtyard to the front door of the main building, shaking red dust from his clothes as he walked.

"Any luck?" I asked, coming out of the shadows of the doorway.

He grunted and brushed past me. "Is everyone ready? If we hang around here much longer, we're going to run out of time."

"Everyone's waiting upstairs. I was just on my way out to get the grooms to tack up our horses now."

"Good." Ry paused, looking me up and down. "You're planning on playing the bodyguard?"

"Yeah." I glanced down. I wore a padded leather jerkin, reinforced with steel plates and chain mail. Cai had had one of the more able servants fix a set of domed shoulder guards to the leather for a bit more protection, and once it was coupled with a set of leather gauntlets, it didn't fare too badly. "Cai let me raid their armory. There wasn't much, but I found enough."

"That's good. Did you find something to cover your face?"

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. "I put it in one of the saddlebags. Speaking of which…"

He stepped around me and went through the door. "Right. You go get the horses ready. We won't be long."

Ry was true to his word. By the time the last of the horses had been tacked and lead into the yard they were there waiting, Ry talking seriously with Solana while Cai checked the girth of a tall chestnut horse I assumed belonged to him. Both of them were dressed in tailored green and gold finery; Solana wearing a long, sweeping court gown while Cai had changed into a wool coat and breeches, a poniard sheathed ceremoniously at his waist. His axes were hung in loops from the back of his saddle, bumping lightly against the sides of his horse when it moved. Kaelin stood a little off to one side, watching Ry with a speculative expression on her face. She hadn't changed her clothing one bit, I noted.

Solana looked up as I came over, holding the bottom of her skirt up off of the dusty ground with both hands. "You're ready?"

I reached up and adjusted my helm. It was a plain thing, a tad battered, but the flat cheek pieces and sloping nose guard hid my scars well enough. "Anytime."

We mounted and rode out, cantering down the narrow road leading to Fletz in a strung out line. Cai took the lead, his big chestnut's long strides eating away at the distance with Solana's smaller grey following on his heels. Kaelin came next, then Ry, the tattered hem of his faded coat snapping wildly behind him as he rode. I pounded along at the rear, seated on the heavyset dun that Cai had loaned me, a huge animal that I strongly suspected must have at one time been a charger. Though the sun had begun to sink down to meet the horizon with the onset of sunset, it was still painfully hit, and I was soon red-faced and sweating under the weight of my armor. And then the sun was gone, replaced by the blue-white light of the moon, unnaturally bright in the night sky. And still we continued on, alternating paces to conserve the horses.

This distance wasn't really all that great, but the natural terrain forced the road to twist this way and that to avoid treacherous ground, so the distance was doubled. By the time the road came out of the hills and onto the cracked plains, evening had been replaced by night. Fletz was visible now, a ethereal city of white stone rearing out of the bleak grey brown wasteland, dimly lit by the hazy light of thousands upon thousands of lamps and torches within the city walls.

We were about three miles outside of the city when Ry suddenly broke away from the group and ran off of the road, galloping his horse hard across country toward a low outcropping of rock jutting out of the earth about a mile from the road. I slowed my horse for a moment to watch his progress, then pushed forward again. He'd mentioned something earlier about creating a diversion that would keep the Moon Child from interfering while we went after the Temple's Dragoon, but hadn't said a word about what he had planned.

Grimly I leaned forward in the saddle, urging my mount on until I galloped along at Kaelin's stirrup. Whatever he had in mind, I hoped it was good. I really, really didn't want to find myself face to face with the Moon Child, whether our plan worked or not. Not that I didn't trust him, but still…

As we thundered up to the city gates I chanced a look back over my shoulder, but even with the moon bathing the countryside in its unnervingly bright light, Ry was nowhere to be seen.

**Mariko' POV:**

I stood on the balcony overlooking the ocean just outside of the court chamber, watching the stars grow brighter in the darkening sky. After being forced to sit and attend the Queen in court for the better part of the day it felt good to stand in the night air, the faintest hint of a sea breeze tickling my cheek. The murmur of conversation drifted through the open doors of the courtroom out onto the balcony, but for the moment I kept my ears closed to their whispers. If I looked straight out over the railing, out over the darkness of the ocean, I could almost make myself believe that I was alone. Alone and somewhere else, not stuck in this palace, wearing a Lady's dresses and acting a Queen's maid.

The dream could only last so long, however. I sighed and leaned against the thick marble railing, wishing that I could take my hair out of the elaborate knot on the top of my head. Even with all of my trepidation about coming to Fletz while on board the ship from Serdio, I had never thought that it might be like this. Though I was in name a guest of honor, I sometimes felt that I was treated as an exotic animal, to be prized and enjoyed, but caged and leashed for fear I might do something disastrous. The Queen certainly seemed to think of me as one. I had spent the past few days seated on a velveteen stool to the left of her throne while she presided over her court, shooting prideful glances at me from time to time out of the corner of her heavy-lidded eyes. Though I was not in truth one of her subjects, she seemed to view me as her own personal pet.

Biting my lip, I looked down to where the palace walls sloped into the white-capped waves of the ocean. I didn't know what made me feel worse; the fact that I was treated in such a way, or the fact that I _allowed_ myself to be treated in such a way. There was a fine line between the two, sometimes. But because I was a mute, I couldn't really voice my opinions or objections. Add into all this the fact that even though they called me a dragoon, I had only had access to that spirit once, and at that under the Moon Child's personal supervision.

I closed my eyes, taking a moment to savor the memory. It hadn't lasted long, but the particular exultation I had felt as the spirit had reacted to my call, flooding my whole being with a power I had only ever dreamed of…that would be burned into my thoughts forever. I felt it perhaps even more keenly than a normal human could have, my wingly blood allowing me to sense magic, yet my human blood restricting me from using all but its weakest forms. But as a dragoon, even knowing the limits of my current abilities, I could _feel_ the whole of the spirit's power, even if I was unable to touch it. With time, maybe I could master it, access it all. Just the thought of that much strength staggered me. And yet, in that moment, still reveling in my newfound strength, the sweetness of it all was somehow dampened by the young woman standing before me, watching me carefully through pale silver eyes.

As powerful as the spirit made me, I was but a trifle beside the Moon Child.

That frightened me. I had felt her power before; really, it was difficult _not_ to feel her, as long as she was within the palace; but I had never understood exactly how great hers was until I had something to compare it to. Now, it was like an oppressive cloud polluting the air of the palace, weighing me down no matter where I went.

"My Lady Mariko?" Soltrane appeared beside me, the contours of his enameled armor catching the moonlight. "The Queen has given you leave to return to your apartments, if you wish. I should not think that you'd enjoy spending the rest of the evening watching the court's proceedings."

I pulled myself out of my thoughts, turning to look at the dread knight gratefully. Soltrane, at least, had recognized my distress at having to spend all of my time in attendance to the Queen. Not that there was much of anything that he could do about it, but it was likely that he had planted the suggestion of letting me return to my rooms early. Trying not to look too eager, I stepped away from the railing, taking one last look out over the ocean before following him back though the arched doorway into the courtroom.

It was a long walk back through the halls of the palace to the tower that housed my apartments. The Moon Child had given them to me as something in the nature of a gift, and though they were very nice, I could see the practicality of the notion. For now it was my home, but with one guard, the lofty tower became a prison. Guest of honor be damned.

_'Everything I have is false.'_ If I had been able, I might have laughed at it all. If. But I couldn't. And so I continued to follow Soltrane along the walkways and up the stairs leading to my tower, a bitter resentment toward myself and the world in general plaguing my thoughts. For now, at least, there was nothing I could do.

_'For now. For now. Always putting it off.'_

"Her Majesty seems to enjoy having you attend her." Soltrane glanced back over his shoulder plate, his strange, soft voice breaking the silence. "But I think that my Lady would rather not, no?"

_'My Lady, my Lady. I'm not one of those fawning courtiers, Knight. Do you think I enjoy it?"_ In my own mind, my thoughts were as loud as thunder. But of course, I said nothing.

Soltrane must have sensed this. Chuckling, he rounded a corner and began to lead me up the long, spiraling flight of stairs that lead to the top of my tower. "I thought as much. You're a strong soul, my Lady. This… captivity. It hurts, doesn't it." For a moment he sounded regretful. "You'll remember I told you once, not to allow yourself to become caught in this spiral."

I almost stumbled on the stairs, catching his arm just in time to pull myself back to my feet. Looking up sharply, I saw that he wasn't even looking at me. Instead he was looking out over the edge of the stairwell, eyes glinting in the shadow of his helm, reflecting the lights of the city below. _'…Spiral?'_

He continued as though nothing had happened. "I fear for you, my Lady. The spiral will soon become too steep. You're running out of time." Soltrane fell silent, still watching the city lights. Not for the first time, I began to wonder just how deeply his loyalty to the temples ran. There were times when I wondered just how far he would truly go, if ordered, and yet…

_'This spiral, Soltrane…is it yours or is it mine? Are you looking for a way out too?'_

At last Soltrane tore his eyes away from the lights below and continued up the stairs. I trailed him, waiting to see if he'd speak again. But as always, he fell stoically silent, as though realizing that he'd spoken too much.

I felt a twinge of pity. For all that he was, here, in this place, he was also the closest thing to a friend that I had. And dread knight or no, I didn't like seeing him like this.

The rest of the climb was finished in silence. Soltrane led me into the circular apartment at the top of the tower, lighting the lamps before heading out onto the balcony while I did my own business inside, as he did every night. He would stay until I was ready to sleep, and even then he would exit only to stand guard outside the door until the midnight watch came. And he would be there again in the morning, waiting when I awoke. Vaguely, I wondered if he ever slept.

_'Spiral…_' I seated myself on the edge of my bed and began to slowly take down my hair, sticking the pins in my mouth as I removed them. _'Do you really think it's too late for me, Soltrane? Have I given up so much already?'_

When the pins were all removed my hair fell down loose around my shoulders, and I pulled my fingers through it, working out the itches that had formed while it was up. _'No. I don't know what happened to you, but it won't happen to me. I'm going to find a way. Even if I have to steal the dragoon spirit and fight for my freedom, I'll find my own way out of this.'_

Out on the balcony, Soltrane was watching the city lights.

**Ayrel's POV:**

"How much longer do you think she'll last, daughter?"

I stepped back from the doorway, where I had been watching Mariko and her guardian ascend up the stairway. "What's that supposed to mean? Did you see something, mother?"

Mother laughed quietly to herself. "I don't need gifts to tell when someone is suffering, Ayrel."

I shook my head and crossed my arms under my breasts. "Still, you do have them."

"Yes. I suppose so."

"And…?"

Mother sighed and leaned back in her chair. "It's like a pit. Everyday, it grows a little larger. It could be days, or weeks, or perhaps months, but sooner or later she'll lash out, and then what will you do?"

"How am I supposed to know?" I grumbled, dropping down to sit on the carpet. We were in mother's private apartments, waiting for father to return from the court proceedings. Supper hour had came and went, and still he wasn't back. Then again, I shouldn't have been surprised. Father seemed to have a love affair with the court, sometimes. He'd even taken to dressing like the country's nobles, all in silks and satins and trim coats. I snorted at the thought. Once, and only once, he'd tried to convince me to dress like one of the court's 'ladies'. So far as I could tell, that damn dress was still rotting under the ocean where I'd translocated it.

"I'd give the matter some thought," Mother recommended. Reaching out of the chair, she picked up her needlework from where she had left it on the bedside table and began to work on it, silver needle flashing in the lamplight. "If you don't, you might do something rash that you'll regret late-" The needlework fell suddenly from her hands, the hoop frame rolling across the carpet as she started to her feet, eyes wide.

"Mother?" I got up quickly, one hand going to the twisted hilt of the dragon buster that hung, ever present, at my belt. Mother was staring at the north wall of her room, and I could feel her beginning to gather her energy as she prepared to teleport into the castle below. Teleport _both_ of us, I realized as she extended the spell to cover me as well. Glaring at her, I stepped back until I was out of range of her spell, and darted out on to the balcony.

In the entire world, there was only one thing that scared mother that badly.

Ignoring her cries, I pulled the door to the balcony shut behind me. Going to the northern side, I jumped up onto the marble balustrade and looked out over the wasteland that was Tiberoa, wavering back and forth as I balanced on the wide rail. A thin streak of blue-white light was skimming across the rocky plain that stood between the city and the mountains, a long trail of dust and debris billowing in its wake.

The dragon buster flared to life in my right hand, its golden glow seeming even brighter in the moonlight. I smiled thinly in anticipation, and gathered my energy to warp down to the desert below. Dart had come to me at last.

I released the spell, and suddenly I was in darkness, standing on the cracked earth of the plains. Dart was a burst of light about a mile distant, but the distance was closing fast. Very fast. Shoving my sword into the ground to free up my other hand, I stretched them both before me, palms facing outward, bringing my mind to bear on them as I did so.

Half a mile.

A quarter mile.

When the dragoon was no more than a hundred meters away, I struck. Energy focused and burst forth in a twisting, raging torrent that scorched rock and earth before it hit its target and detonated, the sudden flare of light blinding after the comparative dimness of the moonlight. The concussion as the spell caught him full on was immense, the shock wave forcing me back several meters and splitting the earth with a sound that was probably heard on the other side of the city.

But as the light from the explosion faded, Dart was still standing, one huge shoulder of his monstrous armor scorched black and pitted from the force of the explosion.

"Is that the best you could do, girl?" He growled, taking a step forward. "That was hardly worth blocking."

I gritted my teeth. It was sheer bravado on his part, but it still rankled at me. "Would you like another taste?" I asked sweetly, trying to keep the irritation from my voice. "I could always amp it up a little bit- you know, roast you like a bird inside that armor of yours. By the way, your friend the dragon _is _aware of how positively hideous it is, isn't he?"

"Useful though," he commented dryly, taking another step forward. "I suppose you could roast me, but what would be the sense in that? I thought you wanted to see me die slowly so you could enjoy it."

"Oh, it would be slow." I smiled poisonously at him, lifting my hands toward him again. "Very, _very_ slow."

This time I altered my aim, swinging my hands upward to follow him as he took to the air. This time the shot only glanced off of the shoulder guard, knocking him briefly off balance before the muzzle of his cannon came up and fired, the incandescent light burning away the dark of the night. Automatically I warped away, the counterattack missing me by a hairsbreadth. I reappeared in the air behind him, only to be forced to warp again as he spun to face me, releasing a scattershot of energy from the cannon's gattling weapon at almost point blank range. By the time I came out of the warp he was gone, a streak of light heading for the mountains in the distance.

I hesitated for a moment, surprised to find myself needing to catch my breath. He was fast; much faster than I would have given him credit for. And his strength…I glanced down, looking to the ruined earth where his attack had landed. There was no broken crater as I might have expected; instead a neat semi-circle ten feet in diameter had been burned out of the stony ground. So. He wasn't just playing games, then.

Retrieving the dragon buster from where it stuck point first into the ground, I turned to focus on the tail of white sparks speeding into the distance. He was running already? I glanced back over my shoulder at the city walls, tall and imposing in the gentle light of the moon. Then I looked away and gathered my energy again, readying myself for the leap. No, not running. This close to the city there was too much chance of interference, which was the last thing either of us wanted. And besides, even if he was running, I wasn't about to let him get away.

The world winked out of sight, and for a long moment I floated alone in an endless expanse of undulating green light. Then with a shiver and inrush of air the world restored itself, leaving me hovering some few hundred feet above the rough landscape. Fletz lay far to the southeast now, seeming much smaller where it stood on the edge of the plain bordering the dark ocean. Mountains fanned out in a great semi-circle from the ocean shore, guarding the flats and forming a dark perimeter of jagged peaks framed against the star strewn sky. The night was clear and the moon, unobstructed by cloud, shone down on the scene with an intensity that was almost fierce.

Dart was still ahead of me, though not by much. He'd changed the angle of his flight slightly more to the north, heading toward a particularly ragged series of peaks that sat well inland of the rest. Another quick warp and the peaks were that much closer, though Dart still managed to keep ahead of me, his dragoon form now clearly visible within the nimbus of light surrounding him as he flew. Jumping again, idly I wondered exactly how much energy he had to expend to keep up that sort of a pace.

I had to make the jumps shorter now, more rapid. It was slightly disorienting, but following this closely behind Dart and still unable to catch him, I couldn't risk making anything longer incase he changed direction. I could feel him in a sense, or rather, I could sense the spirit's power, but nothing on the level of my mother's skills in that particular area. If he dropped out of sight, I didn't know how much of a chance I stood of finding him again on my own.

We were in the mountains now, and those strange, snapped off peaks seemed almost close enough to touch. Ahead of me Dart suddenly dove, rolling in a tight corkscrew toward a nearly invisible pass through the rock. As he disappeared from sight I gathered myself again, aiming for a point about a mile beyond the peaks. At least from there I should be able to see him as he came out the other side, if I was quick enough.

The world flickered. When it returned, I found myself floating above a sea of darkness that stretched for miles in every direction. Confused, I looked around. At first it seemed that I must have overshot, but no- there were those odd twisted peaks, and the mountains stretching off to either side. I turned a slow circle in mid-air, reevaluating the situation. Mountains encircled the gap in the same way that trees might surround a lake. It formed a natural basin of sorts; there might have even been a lake here at one point, early in time while Tiberoa was still green. Looking down, I did my best to peer through the blackness. The moonlight helped somewhat, though all I could tell was that it seemed to be filled with rocky spires, half submerged in the dark. Looking around again, I frowned. Dart was nowhere to be seen, but I could feel the slow eminence of the spirit's power seeping out, tainting the air. He wasn't far. I glanced down again, then up at the stars, then down. Not far at all.

I couldn't see into the valley below well enough to teleport with any degree of accuracy, so I flew down instead, preternaturally alert as I descended slowly with my dragon buster at the ready. The air tingled as though something nearby had just been struck by lightening, and there was a feeling something akin to static- though not quite. Pinnacles of rock rose slowly above my head, their bases lost within the shadow below.

It wasn't until I was well in the midst of the stone that I realized something was horribly wrong. The huge monoliths of stone, weighing tens of tons apiece, didn't seem to be anchored in anyway to solid earth, for there was no earth to be seen. Impossibly, the rocks floated suspended in mid-air, drifting slightly like leaves caught in a lazy current.

_'What the hell is this place?'_ I half-turned, my eyes wide as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing. As if seeing one had summoned more, suddenly I could see them all around me, rocks of every size and shape and description, some moving some immobile as they hung there in silent defiance of reality. Danger forgotten for the moment I simply stared, the hand holding the dragon buster falling to my side as I tried to take it all in.

In my amazement, I failed to see the shadow that detached itself from the rocks at my back and hurled itself across the intervening space, slamming into me from behind. The dragon buster flew from my hands as I was sent tumbling, flipping over twice before I could right myself. Dart, bare of his armor, dropped away from me, turning himself over in midair as he dove after the falling dragon buster, coat flapping wildly as he fell. With a curse I followed, pouring every ounce of energy I could muster into my wings. The distance closed and for an instant we were alongside each other, side by side as we dropped. And then I was ahead of him, hands outstretched as I reached out to catch my weapon from the air, thumbing it on as Dart whipped past, unable to stop himself as he hurtled toward a rocky platform that had materialized out of the darkness below. I slowed my decent and hung back, waiting to see if he would be able to transform in time.

As a matter of fact he didn't, but it made little difference. Twenty feet above the slab gravity seemed to warp itself and his fall slowed, bringing him to rest softly on the drifting rock. Seeming much less surprised than I was, Dart drew his sword, the moonlight dancing along its lethal length as it slid from its sheath. He glanced up at me once as the light from his transformation began to engulf him, and then he was rushing upward, wings powering the air as he blasted upward.

The shock as our swords met numbed my arm, and almost immediately I felt myself being forced back, unable to hold my own against his strength. With a snarl I slid my blade away and kicked out at his face angrily. Feeling the kick make contact, I whirled away, trying to put as much distance between the dragoon and myself as possible. Still recovering from the blow to his head Dart lunged forward with the muzzle of his cannon extended like a blunt spear. I dodged, spinning to the side and swinging down hard with the buster, the sword's flickering blade biting deep into the touch shell of the cannon. Jerking it free again I backed away reaching my other hand toward him as I prepared to cast a spell that would fill the area with a web of thunder. Surprisingly Dart drew back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." His voice was deadly quiet, but filled with warning.

I hesitated, then stretched my hand out again, focusing even harder. The feeling of static in the air increased, prickling my skin.

Dart sighed and shook his head. "Do you know why the gravity is inconsistent here? This is one big backwater of magical residue almost 12000 years old. It's extremely unstable."

"You're bluffing." I snapped back, but I did lessen the spell somewhat. Unstable magic…?

Dart flinched slightly, as though something had stung him. "Really?" He said skeptically, watching as a stray rock floated past. "Try your spell if you want then, but if the whole thing blows up in your face, don't blame me. The dragoon spirits seem to work here, but that's a different sort of magic altogether. Besides, not even I'm stupid enough to try using magic here."

"Bastard," I growled, finally seeing his point. With a shudder I let the spell dissolve and lifted the dragon buster. "Fine. Magic isn't the only way out."

"Assuming you can find your way out, that is. Stay down here for too long and you might end up lost forever."

"Yeah, right." Gritting my teeth, I attacked.

From the first exchange of blows it was clear that how Dart fought as a human and how he fought as a dragoon were two vastly different things. As a human he had been strong, yes, but not so much that I couldn't find a way to offset it with speed or clever swordplay. As a dragoon though, there was no precise swordplay. The horrific strength that the armor lent to him staggered me, and very quickly I found myself trying to dodge his attacks rather than block them, using hit-and-run tactics to try to score an incapacitating blow. Long gouges formed in the armor from the slashes of my dragon buster, tears and rents that should have found flesh and bone and yet didn't. And still he fought on, swinging his wicked blade as he sought my blood.

I was wearing myself out. Winded, I tried to pull myself back out of his range, the arm holding the dragon buster shaking from fatigue. Grimly Dart turned toward me again, implacable as the tide as he lifted his sword again.

_'How long can that transformation possibly last?' _I thought desperately, pulling back even farther as he advanced. I could see now the severity of the trap that I had walked in to. With magic, surely I would have been able to face the dragoon, but here, where magic was liable to be more dangerous to the user than to the target, there was no chance. In match of strength, Dart would crush me as long as he remained empowered by that dragon's damned spirit. My only hope lay in exhausting the transformation and finding a way to overcome him while he was human, but there was a risk even in that. The longer the battle wore on the faster Dart would be able to revert to his armored form, leaving me even more worn out and less able to face it than before.

Eventually exhaustion began to take its toll. As I began to slow down Dart lashed out with one huge foot, crushing me against the side of a rock. I screamed as the wicked talons dug into my chest, scoring deep, bloody gouges into my ribcage. As Dart drew back his sword to strike I lashed out wildly, the enchanted blade of the dragon buster stabbing through the armor at the hip, finding soft flesh at last. He cried out and flinched back instinctively, and the pressure on my chest lessened just enough to allow me to slip free. I could taste blood, I realized, and absently realized that my lip had been split clean open to spill blood down my chin.

Dart's sword flashed out in retaliation and I closed my wings, letting myself free fall a few dozen feet before opening them again and racing off into the shadows of the rocks, away from the dragoon with my heart in my throat. This fight was lost. My only chance of survival lay in escape.

I flew without any sense of direction, dodging rocks and flying boulders as I tried to put as much distance between Dart and myself as possible. When at last I began to see flashes of sky overhead between the towering rocks I flew upward, almost laughing in relief. If I could get into open air then I could find a way away from this cursed place, somewhere where I could salvage myself with magic.

But first…I landed on a broad lump of rock that didn't seem so locomotive as the others did. My limbs quivered from exhaustion as I folded my wings and slumped to the ground, trying to catch my breath. Even now, as close as I was, there was no way I could reach the sky like this. Dragging myself back from the edge, I pulled myself along until I could settle my back against a twisted old tree stump. _'One minute,'_ I promised myself. _'Just one minute to rest.'_

Rocks drifted past overhead, dark and dappled shadows framed against the starry mosaic of the night sky. Again, I found myself noticing how bright the moon was tonight. Normally I would have counted this as a sign of good luck for myself, but at the moment I knew just how false the notion was. He had me trapped here, and he knew it. I yearned for the sky overhead, but for the moment at least, I was down for the count.

As my breath began to steady again I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. In an instant the dragon buster was alight in my hand, the other coming up automatically to shade my eyes against the glow as I wrenched myself around without moving from a sitting position. A shadow drifting across a stretch of bare rock; nothing more. I let my breath out slowly, a hiss between clenched teeth.

"You know Ayrel, for all of your bravado, I seem to get the sense that you're balking." The voice echoed off of the drifting rocks, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

I wrenched around again, this time searching for him as best I could with my mind as well as my eyes. And still there was nothing; was it the dragon, shielding him? Or was the magic of this unnatural place messing with my senses?

Above, the rocks continued to drift. As the shadows slipped away a shape seemed to detach itself from the darkness and then he was there. At some point the transformation's effects had worn away, leaving him looking small and very slight without the bulk of his massive armor, though he was by no means a small man. Stepping to the edge of the crag on which he stood, he gazed down at me expressionlessly, taking in my condition.

I'll freely admit that there was something about him that chilled me in that moment. He seemed utterly unconcerned with the flaring sword I held in hand, keeping his eyes fixed on my own instead. They shone cold and flat in the moonlight, without even a suggestion of wariness or uncertainty. Only a cool malevolence that made me want to crawl inward on myself, to find some escape from that terrible gaze.

This was not Dart. No human ever had eyes such as those.

Ragnarok reached up to the collar of his shirt; fingers undoing the buttons slowly, one by one as he spoke. "You never trained with hunters, did you, kid?" He asked softly, his eyes fixed on mine while his hand continued to work the buttons of his shirt. "They teach steel well in those temples of yours, I must admit. Your sword masters teach you to take life, but they also teach you to value it. They teach you mercy." He had come to the end of the buttons; the shirt hung open now. "But," He continued, "I've always found that that sort of mercy leaves something to be desired. I've always found that hunters have a more appropriate view on the subject."

He moved his left shoulder, shrugging away the heavy fabric of his jacket. "Do you know what it is they teach, kid? It might benefit you." Reaching up with his hand, he pulled away the thin cloth of his shirt, leaving his shoulder bare in the moonlight. Muscle, etched in light and shadow, was stretched thickly over his frame, but that was not what drew my eyes. A long, ragged scar stretched down from the top of his shoulder and ended part way across his chest, the scar tissue silvery pale in the moonlight.

I felt my hand start to shake. I knew the blade that had inflicted that scar.

Slowly, Ragnarok drew his clothing back up to cover the scar, though his eyes were still fixed on my own, boring into my head like red-hot iron.

"Never," he said softly, "wound what you mean to kill."

I felt myself turning cold. Ragnarok slowly drew his blade from its sheath, the sibilant whisper of steel alarmingly loud in my ears. Hopping lightly off of the edge he dropped down onto my rock, landing in a crouch with his blade held out clear to the side. Looking up, his eyes burned in the shadows of his face like cold fire. "Tell me, Ayrel. They call you a goddess, but what sort of goddess would fear the blade of a mortal?"

I tried to get to my feet, but about all I could manage was an undignified scramble onto one knee. My heartbeat pounded like a drum in my ears. Surely he could hear it. The way he was looking at me, there was no way that dragon _couldn't_ have heard it. I gripped my dragon buster very firmly with my sword hand, feeling the hilt slip slightly in my sweat-slicked grip. On the other side of the slab Ragnarok had started his slow advance, his long, tattered coat flicking at his heels like the broken wings of a demon.

"Monster," I whispered, the iron taste of blood heavy in my mouth. "You black-souled _monster_!"

"I always wondered where the name came from," the dragon replied dryly, taking another step. He stood over me now, blocking out the moonlight. "Just remember, Ayrel. You were the one who started it."

I squeezed the hilt of the dragon buster. "No." I shook my head and looked up, full into those terrible eyes. "You did." And mustering every last once of energy I could manage, I sprung forward, driving my blade at his stomach.

Several things happened in that moment. Like lightening Ragnarok whirled away, the keen edge of his sword shrieking through the air as he swung it around, turning the dodge into what would have been a strike. With nothing to stop me I fell forward, the point of the dragon buster driving into the stone. For an instant time seemed to crawl, Ragnarok completing the spin that would set him up to drive his sword through me as I rolled onto my side, spurs of pain driving though my ribcage from the open wounds on my chest.

It's said that when faced with death, people will often make the most desperate choices. I'm not even sure if I really made the choice. Staring up at Ragnarok- the age-old enemy of the winglies entrapped within the body of one of mankind's ancient dragon warriors- rationality was replaced by instinct. My will cracking inside my mind like a whip, I released my power all at once, willing myself to be anywhere, anyplace but there.

As the sword started to fall the world disappeared, not in a sudden flash, as it usually did, but in a fragmented swirl, as though the last image I saw had been frozen and then smashed by a hammer. A discordant hum filled my ears with off-key music and my stomach lurched unpleasantly with the sudden sensation of rapid movement, foggy my mind with nausea. And then it was over, the warp depositing me on a patch of sandy ground scattered with thin, dead wisps of grass.

Letting go of the dragon buster, I dragged myself forward a few feet to where a jumble of squared-off rubble lay in a heap. Pulling myself onto my elbows, I leaned over the stones and retched, the taste of the stuff fouling my mouth. When I was finished I sat up, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand as I looked around. There was one building immediately to my left, its ancient walls cracked by exposure to the elements and neglect. Looking around I saw that there were others, all in various stages of decay. They might have been made of sandstone, but all color was diluted by the moonlight, making it difficult to tell. I seemed to be on a road of sorts, leading off to a long flight of stairs in one direction, while the other led to an old wall surrounded by the crumbled remains of its gate.

I sat there for a few minutes in the darkness, feeling myself over for injuries. Aside from the gashes on my chest and the split lip, the only other hurt worth noting was what I suspected to be a sprained ankle. Feeling somewhat relieved, I healed the injuries with magic, relieved and comforted to have that available to me once again. Getting to my feet I retrieved my dragon buster and thumbed it off. I had no clue where my randomized warp had deposited me, but I was fairly certain that neither Dart or Ragnarok would be able to find me here. Earlier, I might have felt anger at the thought, but now all I could feel was relief. There would be time enough to be angry later, when I found my way back to Fletz. For now, though, just being alive was enough.

Alive. It hurt to be satisfied with that much. It rankled that Dart had been able to lead me so easily into that trap. Had mother been right? Had I let my pride get the better of me?

The dragon buster lay on the sand a few feet away from me, staining the silvery sand orange-gold in its glow. Reaching out, I picked it up and thumbed it off, leaving me sitting alone in the darkness with sunspots dancing across my vision. Alive. Yes, I was alive.

_'Never wound_ _what you mean to kill…'_

Ragnarok's soft words seemed to be whispered on the wind, repeated in the slight shifting of the sands as a light breeze smelling of sun-baked earth and dry bracken stirred my sweaty hair.

I leaned back against the stones, my fingers caressing the smooth hilt of the dragon buster. "Thank-you, Ragnarok," I whispered softly, remembering his words. I'd learned my lesson. I had time now; time to think, time to find a way to return the favor.

Time enough to find a way to make that dragon eat his words.

The sky was no longer quite as clear overhead. A bank of cloud was beginning to slip up from the southwest, the first few adventurous wisps drifting across the pitted face of the moon. The moonlight on the wall of the crumbling house opposite me shifted and faded, dappled with shadow. I watched it quietly, still stroking my weapon absently.

Time enough.

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Shade: -_chained to the laptop-_ There! Finished!

Dart: _-peers over her shoulder-_ You sure?

Shade:-.- If I go much longer, something's liable to explode. _Now_ can I eat?

Dart: Maybe. You still have to get started on the next one.

Shade: ;-; _-cries-_

Well, took me long enough. 23 pages, or something like that. About all I can say is I'm glad I took the time I did, seeing as in my opinion it's the best chapter I've written in a very, very long time. O.o I was actually sympathizing with Ayrel through the confrontation between her and Ark/Dart. Sad to say it, but I think I'm going to have to revise my opinion of her a bit. I actually sort of like her.

_-Is at this point is maimed by pointy objects hurled by the readers-_

…Owie. And to those who are interested, Chapter two has been completely revised and re-posted. It should make for much, much easier reading than the original.


	51. Side Story6

And now, in an incredible, anti-climatic response to the last chapter, I give you-!

…The _side story_! –_Insert vicious hisses here_-

-.- No, I'm not trying to make you suffer. No, this was not just my cheap-assed way of getting something posted sooner. This is a part of the original game plan.

…Besides, it gives me a chance to play around with one of my favorite, less-touched-on characters. I love Shane. He be huggable. Anyway...

Magical Mage: Borrow the quote? Sure. I sort of pulled it from a similar-type quote to begin with, just 'cause it suited Ark so well. :P

EternityWaits:Will there ever be a"Arky going crazy and changin into the Divine dragoon in front of the party thing?" Maybe. Sort of.Not saying nuttin'!runs off into the woods to resist saying too much

Silver Kitsune: I imagine he'll get around to it eventually. :P

Gundam WingFanatic90: How long were Dart and Shana married? o.o gah, the memory straining. Only a few years, I think. I'm tempted to say eight, but I honestly can't remember. I'll look into that later.

Shadow Rave: Ressurection of Rose? Hate to say it, but I've always had a thing against resurrecting characters that have had a definate death in the original plot (Arkie doesn't really count becuase, well, technically he's still dead).What's been done to them is done, and I prefer to leave it that way. Saves me coming up with all these complicated reasons as to _how _exactly they were brought back, and why. I'm just not good at that sort of thing. To people who can actually manage that feat: I am in awe of your skills. o.o;

darkdragon24: The truth of the matter is, Ayrel doesn't really understand exactly what being the Moon Child involves, mainly because, up until now, nothing has really been required of her in that respect. That's the main reason why she views herself as being in the right and Dart as being in the wrong- she doesn't understand the entire reason he's doing things. She doesn't know she's destened to destroy the world, and to hell if Mommy's going to tell her. :P Now how's she going to get worked around to the point that she actually would? You'll just have to wait and see.

* * *

**Side Story 6**

It was a clear night tonight, and chill, touched with the first winds of true winter, though the season wasn't due for several weeks yet. Shane shuffled his feet against the smooth timbers of the deck, pulling his thick cloak closer around him. Winter might not be due for some time yet on the mainland, but over the ocean, it seemed, the waves had lost the calendar. It had snowed earlier that night, large flakes that had drifted out of the sky to settle on the deck and rigging or melt in the surging waves. Then the cloud had moved on, driven southeast toward Serdio where the snow would probably turn to rain before it made landfall.

In his hood Oleo stretched and yawned, the pleasant rumble of her purr loud against his ear. Shane reached back over his shoulder and scratched the tabby's ears, smiling when the little cat licked his fingers. Shane had a thing for cats; unlike most other ships, his vessel, The _Blue Wind_, was filled with the animals. That caused some problems with the sailors, sometimes, but the luxury of waking up and knowing that there wasn't a rat aboard the ship usually outweighed the inconvenience of discovering some feline had pissed on their shoe.

'_Besides,'_ Shane thought to himself as Oleo settled down again, still purring contentedly, _'They make good companions on nights like these.'_

Night watch was never an enjoyable task aboard the_ Blue Wind. _Though the cargo-laden deck made it easy to get out of the biting wind, it was by no means a small vessel, and out of necessity the watchmen had to work something of a patrol. Between checking the cargo and watching the black, hopefully featureless ocean, the task soon became monotonous and deadly boring. And though Shane could just as easily have pressed the task onto the lesser crewmen like most other captains did, he usually took the night watch along with the rest. He had never felt entirely comfortable ordering others around, even the maids in his father's household, and at least sharing some of the normal chore load made him feel more at ease.

Leaning against the rail, Shane watched the moon's reflection dancing on the crests of the night-dark waves. They had sailed out of Fueno just over a day ago, their destination logged into the ship's books as being the port of Furni on the southern coast of Mille Seseau. They were expected, but…Shane glanced up at the stars, checking their relative position. Southeast, not northwest. A look at the books might show a leisurely voyage back home, but in reality the ship was all but flying south, the masts bearing as many sails as could be considered safe. Even now, with most of the smaller sails furled for the night, the heavy ship kept up a fair clip, the stout bow plowing though waves rather than riding up and over them.

Shane winced. The _Blue Wind_ was carrying a full load of cargo, and traveling at such a speed did pose some risk, but this wouldn't be the first time that he had placed personal matters above business. And while the sailors might mutter about the extended voyage, none of them would let slip a word concerning this little side trip. Not as long, at least, as Shane continued to pay them. And besides, he had his reasons.

_The room was colorful, but unusually the choice of décor showed some reservation and taste. Deep yellow paint coated the walls, accented by a carved wooden frieze that marched around the baseboard. The floors were ash wood, hard and polished from years of wear. Here and there rugs and mats had been strewn, ranging in color from deep crimson to pale blue. Small paintings and inks of animals and houses hung in their frames off of the walls, and the room's single window, partially open and surrounded by these small pieces of art, was covered by a gauzy white curtain that seemed to breathe in and out with the air flowing through. Next to the window was a plain bed, though the blankets covering it were paneled in blue satin. It was on this bed that Lyke sat, bundled in his flowing robes. He was paler than Shane remembered, and though that self-assured smile still remained, it had changed somewhat. The slightest of flaws in the mask; a hairline crack that had been hastily plastered and repaired. So slight was the change that had not Shane long since learned to read past his brother's veiled expressions, he would have likely never noticed the difference._

"_So how long do the doctors give it?" Shane had seated himself at the end of the bed, well clear of his brother's injured leg, which was bound in a cocoon of splints, bandages, and plaster. _

_Lyke's smile faded somewhat. "A month, maybe two. It was a messy break, so it's causing all sorts of complications." _

"_Ah." Shane tilted his head slightly. "How did you break it anyway? I don't think you got that from just falling down the stairs. _

_Lyke snorted and looked away. Shane sat patiently, waiting. Lyke always made a show of not wanting to share information, but sooner or later, if you waited long enough, he'd spill the beans._

_At length Lyke sighed. "It was Kaelin's fault."_

"_Kaelin?" Shane sat up straighter. "I haven't seen her in a while. What was she doing in Bale?"_

"_Hiding out from a merchant, apparently." Lyke shook his head. "Somehow I doubt that, but I agreed to help her out a bit."_

"_That was unusually good of you, but I still don't see why you're blaming that leg on her."_

_Lyke waved a hand irritably. "If you'd let me finish, I could tell you. She didn't come alone, you see. There were two men with her." He paused a moment, reaching for a glass of water sitting on the windowsill. "As it turns out, both of them were wanted by the temples on various charges, so I went behind her back and made a deal with one of the priests. I'd deliver him the two men, in exchange for preferred trading status with the Serdian Temples."_

_In spite of himself, Shane gave a low whistle. "Which would have given you enough money to buy your way out of Father's business. He knows what you're about, by the way."_

"_Really?" Lyke yawned. "That doesn't really surprise me. I've been trying to start over on my own for almost ten years now." He looked at the room around him, his face a mask behind that small smile. "I _hate_ being dependent. Where was I?"_

"_You were going to give the Temples the men." Shane never batted an eyelid. Lyke was doing this on purpose, he knew. He was hoping that his brother would become sidetracked by small talk and forget about the matter at hand. Business dealings were so ingrained into Lyke that even in casual conversation he would try to play with the other person. _

"_Ah, yes. You see I planned on putting all three of them to sleep at breakfast one morning, and delivering the two men immediately. Unfortunately, one of them chose that morning to look around the city. I sent one of my men out after him, but no luck." _

"_So what did you do?"_

"_What could I do?" Lyke shrugged. "The priest was expecting two prisoners. I had the other man, and I had Kaelin."_

"_Your own sister?" Disgusted, Shane jumped up off the bed. "No wonder she busted up your shin."_

"_Kaelin? Oh no. That other man came back later on that day, after I had delivered Kaelin and her friend. You see, the temples argued that since I had promised them two men, but delivered only a man and a woman, the deal was void. Yet they wouldn't let Kaelin go, either. So when the other man came back to the house, I saw my chance to keep the rest of the deal."_

"_So he broke your shin, then. Good for him." Shane turned to go._

"_No!" Lyke barked, and grabbed his wrist. "You don't understand. That man…" He shuddered, and suddenly the mask broke. "…I sent three of my best men in there to subdue him. Shane, he had one arm bound up in a sling and he still took down all three of them! One handed! It was like..."Lyke shook his head and looked up at his brother, trying to make him understand. "I've dealt with killers before, but I've _never_ seen anyone with eyes like he had."_

_Carefully, Shane peeled his brother's slim fingers off of his wrist. "What did he do then?"_

"_Came after me. Forced me into my room and blocked the door. And then he told me in no uncertain terms exactly what he'd do to me if he ever caught me dealing with the temples or nosing into Kaelin's life again." He winced. "I'll admit that I made a bid at escape at about that moment. Temple dealings are _very _profitable."_

"_So he broke your shin." Shane surmised, and Lyke nodded._

"_When he'd made sure I wasn't able to try that again, he told me that he was leaving. He then told me that if I so much as tried to follow, or sent someone after him, or even tried to find any of them again, he'd make a special return trip for the express purpose of wringing my neck slowly with both hands." Lyke finished, and lay back on his bed. _

"_What happened then?"_

"_A few hours later there was an escape from the temple." He shrugged. "Some things were taken from the room of the High Priest, so I can only assume that that was Kaelin. After that, who knows? That man sounded very serious with his threats, and I wasn't about to try and test his word. They haven't been back to Bale since, that I do know."_

_Shane looked away. So the men were more than just temporary associates of Kaelin's , it seemed. Otherwise, that man wouldn't have gone through all of that trouble to find out what happened to her. But why were the temples so interested in them?_

"_Shane?"_

_Shane glanced back at his brother. "Sorry. You said you had some cargo that you needed shipped?"_

_Lyke leaned back onto his elbows. "Talk to Kef. There's a load of food and spices that I need transferred from Doneau to Fueno. Put Lence in charge of the distribution. He'll know what to do with them." _

"_Is that all? I'm heading back to Furni after this, so if you need anything taken to the home offices, I may as well take it back with me."_

"_I suppose." Lyke thought about it for a moment. "How is the market for heavy cloth in Mille Seseau at the moment?"_

_Shane shrugged. "I couldn't tell you, but seeing as winter's coming on, I think it would be a safe bet that it's pretty good."_

"_Most likely. I have a load of thick velvets and wool that have been sitting idle for a while. You could take those back with you, if you would."_

"_Is that all?"_

"_Well, there is the small matter of…"_

Shane winced at the memory. He had ended up taking on much more than just a few bales of cloth, but with Lyke, that was only to be expected. When you dealt with that man, you often found yourself taking on much more than you had anticipated.

What had bothered him about this exchange, though, was the news concerning Kaelin. More often than not the girl managed to find some way to get herself into trouble, but if the temples had kept her imprisoned even after discovering the mistake, there had to be something more to it. And if Kaelin had managed to find some way to get herself in a bind with the temples… Shane reached back over his shoulder to scratch Oleo's head. Even if she had managed to escape their dungeons, the temples didn't just forget the offence. They would follow, as best they could.

And then had been the matter of the objects missing from the room of the High Priest. Undoubtedly Kaelin had been involved somehow, but what could have been so important that she would have risked a trip through the temple in order to find it? It hadn't been a random coincidence, of that much Shane was sure. He knew his sister too well. So then what was it? That question had plagued him for some time, he had to admit.

Walking across the deck to the opposite side of the bow to continue his watch, Shane squinted across the dark waves. Nothing. Satisfied, he returned to his musings.

It wasn't until he had arrived in Fueno that he had finally seen the whole picture. There had been other hints, scraps of news that had been heard only in passing, but at the time had meant little to him. And then he had arrived in Fueno, loaded down with Lyke's cargo, only to be besieged with tales of dragoons and a virage; a battle straight out of legend taking place in that very harbor but one day past. At first it had been difficult to believe, but when a fishing boat had dragged a piece of the beast from the harbor shortly after his arrival, he found himself forced to believe his eyes. In truth, the existence of dragoons hadn't much fazed him; news of the legendary warriors had been flowing like water out of Tiberoa for quite some time now. But a virage… that was worrying.

And then there had been the incident at the tavern. It hadn't been difficult to get a basic description of Kaelin's associates out of Lyke, and Shane had carefully filed them away in his memory for reference. He hadn't really expected to find the man who had assaulted Lyke in Fueno, let alone sitting at the table next to himself and his friends, but fate had a way of twisting itself around, sometimes.

_The man was leaning out of the chair, looking intently at Romo. Long, sandy hair fell over a twisted bandanna to hang around his eyes. His face had the grey, slightly haggard look of a man who hadn't slept well in nights, and dark shadows had settled below his eyelids. It was his eyes, however, that caught Shane's attention. As weary as he appeared, they were clear and alert; a piercing, glacial blue as he stared at the other man. Uncomfortable, Shane forced himself to try to look away._

_It was the sword that grabbed his attention. People didn't usually carry steel into the city, but a sword hung from his belt, the long hilt bound in wire and topped with a polished lump of blue crystal. Shane did a double take, and slowly took in what he saw. He wasn't an especially large man, and much of his body was hidden beneath a battered and faded oilskin coat. But there was something about the way he held himself, even tired as he must have been, that reminded Shane of a coiled spring. Not out of nervousness, or any visible anxiety, but rather out of a sort of ingrained anticipation born of long years in tight situations. This man was a fighter, and no average one at that. _

_Gradually, the description Lyke had given him back into Kazas slipped back into his mind, and Shane had to force him self to look at the ceiling to stop himself from staring. It was him. He matched the description perfectly, right down to the narrow scar high on his left cheekbone. The sling had disappeared, but that did little to alter the image. It was him. The man that had broken Lyke's leg._

The wind was picking up again. In his hood, Oleo yowled and climbed onto Shane's shoulders, stretching his legs in front of him one by one before jumping down onto the deck to waltz away. Shane watched the cat disappear through a hatch into the warmth of the hold, then turned back to the ocean. After Romo had left with the man, it hadn't taken him very long to piece the rest together. Seeing connections was something of a gift of his, though admittably his talents paled against those of his sister. If that man had been in Fueno, then he would have been willing to bet that Kaelin, and most likely the other man, were there too.

He leaned over, resting his elbows on the rail. The temples claimed that the dragoons were appearing in their service, but now Shane was starting to have his doubts. There had been rumors that the Tiberoian dragoon was not in fact as loyal as he appeared, and that the only reason he remained in service to the Queen and Child was because his own family was held hostage by the temple's dread knights.

The temples hadn't let Kaelin go, even when they discovered that she wasn't the one that they had wanted. And then there had been the items taken from the High Priests rooms during the escape. Kaelin wouldn't have taken something without reason; at least, not under those circumstances, he was sure. And if they had been in Fueno as he suspected, their stay would have had to have coincided with the appearance of the dragoons…

Shane shook his head, trying to clear his mind. If he were to have had to tell it to someone else, he knew, it would sound far-fetched and probably fairly stupid, but at the same time he just had this…_feeling_. It all connected; he could feel it as surely as he could feel the deck rocking beneath his feet. How exactly, he could only speculate, but still… he smiled. The man had wanted passage for himself and his friends to Doneau, and so Romo had taken them. He had seemed most eager- but only after Shane had mentioned the rumor of the temple's _second_ dragoon.

Romo would take them to Doneau. From there, Shane was sure that they would go to Fletz. And from Fletz they would probably return to Doneau, eager to leave in a hurry, if half of what he expected was true. And they would need a ship- any ship, so long as it was immediately available. And if there was only one ship to be had, well, then Kaelin's prejudices wouldn't be allowed to get in the way.

He smiled to himself. '_Listen to me', _he thought ruefully,_ I'm starting to sound like…well, like Lyke. _Then he sobered again. If his suspicions proved groundless, of course, this would all be nothing but a waste of time. And yet, at the same time, it was worth the risk. Whether she was aware of it or not, he'd spent most of his life trying to help her along, though if she did, all she would have seen was him trying to bind her even tighter to the family through dept to him. She was like that, sometimes.

'_Blood ties.' _The one thing she hated more than anything else, but in this case it was a part of what drove him to come to her aid. Even if it turned out to be nothing.

Overhead, a wisp of cloud drifted across the pitted surface of the moon, driven by the same wind that filled the _Blue Wind_'s sails. Waves capped with white ran with the motion of the ship, breaking on her hull and racing before her. In the distance Tiberoa was a black smudge on the horizon, hardly distinguishable between the black of the ocean and the deeper black velvet of the distant skyline, crouched like a slumbering beast awaiting the first touch of dawn.

* * *

Merry Christmas, one and all! Back into the mainstream plot next chapter, I promise! 


	52. Infiltration

Top of Form

Post-anime depression. Well, not exactly depression, but more like the mixture of "awww", and NO! FOR THE LOVE OF GOODNESS, WHY?" That I always end up feeling when I finish books or a TV series. I got the full set of D-N-Angel DVD's for my birthday, and actually managed to restrain myself for a whole day before ploughing into them. And was promptly confused: the translations for the subtitles in the first three episodes or so were horrendous, not to mention horribly entertaining.

Approx. translation: "I don't want to be a phantom thief! Change me back!"

What the subtitles say: "I don't want to be birdy pirate. Let me restore."

Ehhhh…yeah. Fortunately, they get better. But not before they start calling letters 'pretzels' _-faceplant-_

Shadow Rave- I'm not really sure how many chapters the fic will end up. I have what will happen from now until the end mapped out in my head, but I can't really translate it into chapters yet. The last time I drew up a plot map with chapters, it exploded in my face anyway. Let's just say enough to keep me busy for a while yet.

Eternitywaits- It's coming. Like I told you guys: wait until we're into Mille Seasu: then we're getting very close.

GundamWingFanatic90- lol, Shane's not exactly dragoon material. He'd throw a fit if you tried to take him away from his boats. As for your other question, I don't really think it would be possible for the former bearers to really inhabit the spirits. Besides, could you picture an argument between Kaelin and Meru? There would be. No. End. O.o The Pain!

* * *

**Cai's POV:**

The warm sounds of music and drunken revelry drifted out the open door of a pub as we rode by in a slow column, the steady rhythm of our mount's hoofs echoing off of the inclosing buildings. A lamp hung on a cast iron hook from the front of each home we passed, casting a small pool of steady light before each doorstep. Though the hour was hardly late the streets were nearly empty; the last person we had seen since entering the city had been an old woman sitting on a bench next to the river that meandered through the city, staring at the moon's reflection dancing on the clear running water. No one seemed to have the urge to venture out of their warm houses into the chill evening air.

We rode along the broad avenue that followed the river through the centre of the city, taking a direct route to Fletz palace. It had been clearly visible ever since we had entered the city, its twin ivory towers rising high over the flat-topped roofs of the city houses, reaching toward the stars above. Behind me, I could practically feel Zion and Kaelin craning their necks upward to stare as their mounts continued to meander along without direction.

"Not much farther, now." Solana spoke up for the first time since entering the city, reaching up with one hand to push back the hood of the dust cloak that protected her fine silks. She had taken the lead as soon as we had entered the city, her grey palfrey stepping confidently through the moonlit streets while my own horse danced and spooked at the shadows. "We'll be leaving the animals in a stable in the main city, so we don't have to worry about guards impeding us should we have to leave in a hurry." She looked back over her shoulder, past me to Kaelin. "Are you still sure you can find a way in?"

Behind me, the slim girl grinned. "Do birds fly? Trust me. I shouldn't take too long."

"Sorry." If Solana wasn't convinced, she gave no sign. "Zion? What about you?"

Zion nudged his horse forward until he was riding beside me where he could be heard without raising his voice. "It won't be fun, but I'll manage. As long as no one tries to get me to take this off-" he rapped his knuckles against the forehead of the fierce helm that covered his head and most of his face, "-it should be okay."

It wasn't a long ride to the stable. Leaving our mounts with the grooms we continued along toward the palace on foot, walking through the lamp lit streets to the city centre where the palace gates were situated. It was quieter now; this close to the palace, setting up an inn or tavern violated city law. Here and there guardsmen roamed the streets, their burnished weapons and armour glinting in the light of nearby lamps. As we approached the first of them I glanced back to warn Kaelin, only to find that she was nowhere to be seen. Walking a few steps behind me, Zion caught my glance and winked. I turned back again, hooking Solana's elbow in mine as we began to climb the short flight of steps that led up to the central square. If Kaelin was already on her way, then it was just about time for the game to begin.

The square was flooded with light from the windows of the storefronts that ringed the perimeter, the golden glow turning the grey cobbles dirty yellow and etching every crack in shadow. One or two people stood outside the entrance to this or that shop, porters for the patrons inside finishing their evening's business. Aside from them, the only other people in the square were the imposing duo flanking the gate at the far end of the plaza. Traditionally, the Royal guard has always guarded the palace, but recently there appeared to have been some changes made in that particular regard.

The dread knights stood at ease to either side of the gate, watching us from the shadows beneath their helms. They said nothing as we approached, but nodded us through mutely once Solana announced herself and stated our business. Then without a word they returned to their posts, leaving us to climb the agonizingly long flight of stairs leading up to the palace by ourselves.

"I hate that," Solana muttered once we were well out of earshot.

"Hate what?"

"They never seem to talk. I don't think I've ever heard one ever say so much as 'hello'."

Zion hurried his pace until he was walking on the other side of Solana. "If they were going to talk, it wouldn't be to say hello." He said shortly. "Trust me, they don't make good conversationalists."

"This? From you?" Solana looked over at him as we climbed; her arm still linked in mine. "You almost sound as though you're scared of them."

"And you're not?" Even under his armour, Zion seemed to shiver. "I'll fight one, if I have to, but without my spirit…" he reached up to his face, touching the steel that covered his scars. "They scare the living daylights outta me." He shook his head. "Honestly? The only person I know who could take one for sure would be…" He trailed off, shooting a sideways glance at me from under his helm.

"Ry." I said shortly, finishing the sentence for him.

"Yeah." Zion looked over his shoulder, back down the stairs to where the knights stood in the shadows of the gate.

"Is he really that good?" Solana slid her arm free of mine so that she could lift her skirts a bit higher.

Zion stumbled slightly as he turned around again, toe snubbing on the top of a stair. Regaining himself, he nodded. "Better, probably. I've never really seen him extend himself all the way, but…well…" He shrugged. "It's just one of those things. Cai, you must've noticed it."

_The cloth bit into the back of my neck as Ry twisted it, pulling me forcefully down to his eye level. Frozen in place, I had no choice but to stare into those cold eyes, my insides turning to jelly under the intensity of that glare. Twisting the cloth slowly in his grip he continued to speak, his voice like wet silk drawn across steel. "Face it, Cai. You can't protect her anymore…"_

I nodded, but didn't trust myself to say anything.

Solana looked from one of us to the other, and then sighed. "I'll have to take your word for it. This seems to be one of those things that I wouldn't understand."

The long flight of stairs ended at last in the central courtyard of Fletz palace. Reaching the top, I paused a moment to look around while Solana and Zion went on ahead. Though I was by no means fond of the nobility that flocked to the place, there was something about the palace itself that had always held an untold fascination for me. The entire outer level had no roof save the stars above; since Tiberoa seldom saw any serious rain, the notion wasn't a bad one. The bulk of the palace itself was ringed by broad walkways, built with white stone and ornamented with blue tile friezes and ancient marble statues. Plants grew in heavy clay basins in the corners of the courtyard and at the base of the twin staircase that occupied the far end of the courtyard. Even on the most chaotic of days the palace always seemed possessed by an unshakeable calm, as though tranquility emanated from the stones themselves.

Even so… I rubbed my arms, feeling the bite in the air. As nice as it was, the centre courtyard was no place to pass the time on a night like this. Solana and Zion had stopped halfway across the yard to wait for me; taking one final glance around I caught up to them and together we climbed the short flight of stairs into the palace itself.

Mentally, I braced myself. The royal court of Tiberoa is probably my _least_ favourite place on earth: normally, I make a point of avoiding it like the plague, but there didn't seem to be any way around it now.

My reluctance must have showed on my face, because Solana slipped one slim arm through mine as we entered and whispered, "Strength, my Love. Look at it this way; after this, we'll probably never have to return after this."

I smiled tersely, wishing that I could scowl instead. "That would be the only good thing about this bloody plan," I grumbled, though I kept that stupid smile plastered to my face. "The downside to it all is we'll probably be stuck with a price on our heads for the rest of our lives."

"That does seem rather probable, doesn't it?" She agreed. "Oh well. I'm sure that we can find somewhere else to go. How about Lideria? I'm sure that we could make an absolutely splendid living farming rocks and gathering seaweed."

For a moment my smile was genuine. "Trust you to find the bright side of things."

"Of course. Now, where did the servants get to? If we're going to present ourselves to the queen, we may as well do it properly while the court's in session."

As it turned out, the court was taking a brief recess from the evening's proceedings. Courtiers lingered in small groups in the open hallways overlooking the central courtyard, sipping wine and chatting with one another while blue-liveried servants attended them. Somewhere inside the palace a string quartet was performing; the music drifted out into the hallways to linger amid the casual chatter. Picking her way past the crowds, Solana led us further down the hallway until the three of us were out of earshot of anyone nearby. After taking a quick look around to make certain that we were alone, Solana came to stand next to me, watching Zion with a slightly worried expression on her face.

"I hope that Kaelin was able to make it in all right. I haven't seen her since she left us back in the city."

"That was sort of the idea." I reminded her. "I wouldn't worry about her, though. She seems like a capable girl."

"Mmm." She shook a wrinkle out of her skirt, then smoothed the fabric. "Well, I suppose there's nothing else for it. Are we ready?"

Standing with his back to the railing, Zion toyed with the hilt of his sword. It had been the largest blade available from our limited armoury back home, but strapped to the towering man's belt it seemed small, almost ridiculous. "I'm just wasting time standing around here," he replied, reaching up to make sure his helm was securely in place. "I'll find some way to get word to you once I find her."

"Right." I looked over at my wife. "Come on, lass. Let's go play with the other fools."

-o-

Despite the open windows at the far side of the gallery, the Chamber of the Sun was uncomfortably warm, and crowded to overflowing with court functionaries and attendants as they filed one by one into the room. Wanting to stay clear of the crowd as much as possible I kept to the back of the room, seated on a bench that had been dragged against the wall. Solana had disappeared into the crowd; now and then I caught a glimpse of her milling about with the rest, chatting with old acquaintances and touching base with family representatives.

I smiled, watching as she made her way from one group to the next, chatting, laughing, always smiling. It was all for show, of course; like everyone else in the room her expression was no more than a skilled mask, a front to hide her real thoughts and concerns. In the courts, showing your real thoughts could be a dangerous thing; if you had something planned, it was a fair bet that someone else was planning against you. Unless, of course, you _wanted_ them to know what you were thinking…

It was all politics, of course. I shifted on the bench, resting my chin in my hand. I was surrounded by a pack of hypocrites, men and woman who fought private wars through cunning and deceit to achieve their own ends, all the while keeping a clean face to the rest of the world. The thought of it was enough to make me sick. And yet, the magnitude of what we were about to attempt was enough to make the most dangerous of those intrigues look like a child's game.

"Urgh." I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall, feeling the cool stone against the back of my neck. _'How did we ever get ourselves into this mess…'_

"Your wife seems to be enjoying herself."

I cracked one eye open. "Vidal. You're looking well, considering."

The aging man who had come to sit next to me on the bench smiled, the expression looking out of place and hungry on his pale, gaunt face. With a long, protruding nose, and greying, slicked back hair, Vidal reminded me vaguely of a rat dressed in a man's clothes. Reaching up to adjust his monocle, the fine glass blacked out to hide the empty socket behind it, he winked slowly with his good eye. "I could say the same of you, my lord. I imagine that you and your lady had quite the time trying to survive out there in the barrens."

I kept my face impassive. "Oh, we managed." Then, lowering my voice, "What do you want, old man? Your skinny face rarely means good news."

Vidal looked away, one hand sliding into the pocket of his coat. "I do not make the news I bear good or ill, my lord. Only those who are its object it have that privilege." The hand withdrew from the pocket, and he pressed a thin slip of paper into my palm. "This was not easy to come by. Be sure to tell your wife as such."

"I will." I tucked the slip away, wondering what it could be. "And the fee?"

"That has already been taken care of." Touching his monocle once more, the old man got to his feet. "I would tell you to call upon me if you had any other need for my services, but I somehow feel that this is the last time we will be seeing one another. By your leave, my lord." And with that he was gone.

'_By your leave…'_ I almost shook my head. Gail Vidal was a dangerous man; talented at finding out what others wanted to remain hidden, he was valuable enough to be out of danger from any of the major families, and at the same time knew enough to destroy the reputation of any one of them any time he wished. In fact the only thing that held him back from doing so was ethics: after all, if he were to destroy the families, who would employ him then?

"Cai?"

I looked up. Solana was making her way through the crowd toward me, the cheerful mask fading as she sat down on the bench. I glanced sideways, in the direction Vidal had gone. She must have been waiting for him to show up. Digging into my pocket, I handed her the slip. "He had quite the time getting his hands one it, whatever it is. What was it?"

"I had him look into the matter of our knowing guest this morning." She unfolded it carefully, biting her lip. "I just hope it's not as…" She trailed off, staring the paper.

Curious, I glanced over her shoulder at the name on the paper. It was written in a precise, tidy hand, so small that for a moment I had trouble reading it. Then, slowly, the title sunk in.

"Oh for the love of…"

**Zion's POV:**

"Hey! You!"

I turned around. An armoured guard was coming toward me, pushing his visor up to regard me suspiciously in the darkness. "What the hell do you think you're doing up here?" He barked.

"Up here?" I scratched my neck and looked up at the starry sky overhead, trying my best to look confused. "You mean I'm not inside the palace anymore?"

"No!"

"Ah, my mistake." I steeled myself and looked him straight in the face, smiling apologetically. "I was looking for a buddy of mine. He said that he'd meet me up here before the court got out. You wouldn't have seen him, have you?"

"How in Soa's name would I know?" The guard growled, thumping the stone walkway with the butt of his spear. "If he was, he was probably chased outta here. Now are you going to leave, or am I going to have to drag you back down the stairs by my self?"

"I think I can manage." Turning around, I headed back around the curve of the palace toward the staircase. Once the guards were out of sight, however, I stopped, slumping up against the wall to give the matter some thought.

At first the plan had seemed to be going well. The bodyguard disguise had worked fairly well, and most people didn't even look up as I passed, let alone demand a good look at my face. For a while this had given me some enthusiasm; after all, that was the most difficult part about getting into the palace, right? More or less content with the fact, I had wandered the halls of Fletz palace looking for some sign of the dragoon, ignoring the nagging little voice in the back of my head that seemed to be trying to tell me something vaguely important. Unfortunately, it took me something in excess of twenty minutes to finally realize just exactly _what_ that little voice was trying to say.

I had, in all of my infinite wisdom, managed to get myself completely, hopelessly, lost.

Berating myself under my breath, I glanced up at the sky again. It was starting to get late; down in the city, the bells would be tolling out the next hour soon. How much more time did we have? After wandering aimlessly for some time I had ended up on the palace roof, though I hadn't even the slightest clue how to find my way back down to the courtroom. Hoping that Kaelin was having better luck than I was, I turned my attention back to the rooftop.

It wasn't really a rooftop, but I couldn't really think of any other way to describe it. Excepting the two towers looming overhead, this was the highest level of the palace. Guardsmen, the traditional palace guards rather than those of the temple, patrolled its length, the moonlight shining off of their burnished silver armour. A pair of guards stood at the base of either tower, guarding the stairways leading up with long, dangerous looking halberds. The only other building on this level was the squat, rectangular structure that stretched between the towers, housing an old start divining room of some sort. Not especially helpful. So what now?

"Arrgh…" I really didn't want to go back into the palace if I could avoid it. Dressed as I was, I couldn't exactly walk around looking through the bedrooms or anything like that. So really, the only option that was left was… I looked up.

_Way_ up.

Solana had said earlier that each of the towers had a room at the very top, though they were usually reserved for royalty or honoured guests. I bit my lip. That would explain why there were so many guards watching the bottom of the stairways. But if the dragoon was at the top, how was I going to get up and back down again without any one seeing?

Around the corner there came the rattle of chain mail. Holding my breath, I sunk deeper into the shadow of the tower, waiting until the guard passed. When the sound faded, I stepped cautiously back out into the open.

Two towers. If I was going to check them, I may as well take the one nearest to me first, and worry about the rest later. That decided, I nodded confidently. So that just left getting past the guards and up the stairs.

Surprisingly, that turned out not to be all that difficult. The stairway spiralled around the tower as it wound up to the top, the lower region of the stair passing three or four feet about my head. The armour made things a bit difficult, but once I was sure that there were no guards in the immediate vicinity I made a jump for it, catching hold of the railing and hauling my self up and over the edge in one effort. Landing in a somewhat unsteady crouch on the stairs, I kept still with one hand on the hilt of my sword, listening with bated breath to see if anyone had noticed the noise. One minute passed. Then two. Satisfied, I began to climb the stairs, almost doubled over as I hurried up.

It was a long climb. By the time I rounded the final bend the castle grounds were far below, the city looking like a child's toy in the distance, all lit up against the night. Half-drawing my sword as I reached the top of the stairway, I braced myself and stepped onto the empty platform that ringed to top of the tower.

There were no guards. With a sigh of relief I pushed my sword back into its sheath and took my hand away. The platform fronted the apartment that made up the top of the tower, a small garden planted against the railing at the far edge. Cautiously, I approached the door. There didn't seem to be any lights on inside; whoever was in there, if anyone, they were probably asleep. Holding my breath, I slowly eased open the door and slipped inside.

There was a light inside, but only one. A small candle guttered on a bedside table, casting a feeble, flickering light that didn't quite extend to the corners of the room. A woman lay fully clothed on the bed next to it, her breast rising and falling gently as she slept.

Frowning, I closed the door carefully behind me. There was something familiar about her that I couldn't quite place. Walking quietly over to the bed, I leaned over, peering at her face.

For a moment, I thought she was a wingly. There was that particular angularity to her features, certainly, but her hair, strewn out on the pillow like a fan, was more blonde than silver or white. Not a wingly, then. A half-breed, maybe? Biting my lip, I half reached out to wake her. So damn familiar. But where…?

As if on cue, the woman stirred, opening her eyes to stare sleepily up at me, violet irises bright and watery in the candlelight.

'_Mariko.'_ The name popped into my mind suddenly, followed on its heels by the memory of the mute woman who had served at the inn Remmy had worked at in Seles. Hadn't Remmy said that her father had been a wingly?

But if she was here, then that must mean…

Blinking slowly, Mariko's eyes came into focus as she shook off the last traces of sleep. For a moment she stared up at me in confusion, her eyes flickering from my face to the sword hilt protruding over my shoulder. Then, without hesitation, she launched a vicious kick that caught me in the upper leg, just short of catching me in the groin. Wincing, I reached out and grabbed her before she could scramble away, forcing her back down onto the bed and pinning her there by the shoulders while she struggled and twisted, whimpering slightly as she fought.

"Mariko? Mariko! Hey, calm down! I'm not going to hurt you." I lessened the pressure on her shoulders, but didn't take my hands away completely.

Gradually, her struggling stopped. Breathing heavily through her nose, she opened her eyes and glared up at me, the question written on her face. _Who the hell are you?_

"Promise not to run away?" I lifted my hands slowly, then pulled off the helm that had hidden my face. "I'm a friend of Remmy's. She worked as a cook back at your inn in Seles?"

Mariko sat up slowly, the anger melting from her face. Reaching out with one hand, she gently touched the scars around my eye, then pulled away. Nodding, she pointed at me.

"I'm Zion Damnen. I don't know if you remember me, but I passed through Seles a month or so back. Tabby burst the flour bag and made a big mess in the kitchen that day, remember?"

She nodded again, and for a moment there was a smile hovering around her lips. Then she frowned. Pointing at me again, she mouthed the words exaggeratedly. _'What are you doing here?'_

I hesitated, then sat down on the bed, pulling the leather gauntlet off of my right hand. Reaching into my armour, my fingers found the spirit hanging in its pouch from a string around my neck. Pulling it out, I undid the drawstring and emptied the red-eye spirit out onto the palm of my hand. Holding it between my thumb and forefinger, I lifted it up so that she could see.

As her eyes went wide, I told her softly, "We're going to get you out of here. Will you come?"

Her eyes flickered from the stone to my face, then back to the stone again. Swallowing, she nodded.

"You have one too, right?" Another nod. "Where is it?"

She shrugged helplessly. Feeling my heart sink, I put my spirit back into the pouch and slipped it back into my armour. Exhaling loudly, I rubbed my forehead. Ry wasn't going to like it if we came back without the spirit. "All right," I said, "do you have any idea where it might be? We really are going to need it soon."

"How soon _is_ soon, Damnen? You're on borrowed time as it stands."

I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Slowly, as though I sat on shattered glass, I reached up and took firm hold of my sword hilt without turning around. "Soltrane. You have a real talent for showing up at the wrong time."

"Wrong for you, or wrong for me? Let go of your sword, Damnen. I'm not here to fight you just yet."

I hesitated, glancing over at Mariko. To my surprise, she nodded. Regretfully, I eased my hand away from the sword and turned around to face the dread knight.

At the far side of the apartment was a curtained archway that led out onto a small balcony overlooking the ocean below. Soltrane stood in the centre of the arch, long cloak lapping gently at his heels in the breeze. Unarmed save for the long staff he carried in his left hand, he watched me intently from the depths of his helm. "You kept me waiting, Damnen. For a time I was almost worried that you might not come."

"I got lost," I said blandly, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

Soltrane laughed softly. "I might have thought as much. My apologies. I thought that removing half of the normal guard would make things easy enough, but I suppose that there's always human error to account for."

I started a little at that. "You _removed_ part of the guard? Wait, are you saying that you _wanted_ me to come here?"

Soltane nodded. "Is that really so difficult to understand? Ah. I suppose that it is. Allow me to explain. But first, My Lady, would you be so kind as to put on a cloak? I'm afraid that it's rather cool tonight, and you would not want to catch a chill."

I sat back onto the bed, bewildered. Mariko silently did as she was bid, fetching a fur-trimmed cloak from where it hung over the back of her dressing screen. Instead of putting it on, though, she stood in front of Soltrane, the unspoken question hanging in the air between them.

Reaching out, the dread knight put one hand on her shoulder. "Whatever may happen, My Lady, there's something better out there for you. I may be beyond help, but that doesn't mean you can't be saved. I have opened the door to your cage. It's up to Zion," he said, looking over pointedly at me, "to guide you out."

Zion? Since when were we on a first name basis? Something odd was going on here, besides the obvious. "What are you…?"

"I thought that would be obvious. I'm giving Lady Mariko her chance at escape." For a moment his voice lost its usual soft edge. "You have no idea what it feels like, Zion, to become a tool of the goddess. For some, it is exaltation. For the rest of us, it is a certain hell." Then his voice regained its strength. "However, no one can serve two masters effectively. So I propose a game."

"Game."

"Yes." Stepping away from Mariko, Soltrane pointed at me with the butt of his staff. "You will fight me. If you win, My Lady will leave with you, and thus be freed. If I win, things will return to how they were." Behind the mask, I was almost positive that he smiled. "We're tossing the dice, you and I. For her sake, I truly hope that you can best me. This way, my conscience will be clear."

I stared at Soltrane, then Mariko, who seemed only slightly less stunned than I was. What was going on? Since when did dread knights make deals with the enemy? Unless in this, Soltrane had found some reason to become an ally…

I shook my head, then reached for my sword. Drawing it, I looked around, assessing the area automatically. Not much room for fighting, even allowing for the balcony. The ceiling was high, though, which might make for some interesting possibilities. At last I sighed, meeting Soltrane's gaze. "I'm not sure why you're doing this, Soltrane, but…" I raised my sword. "Soa help me, I'll play your game."

Soltrane inclined his head, touching the edge of his helm like a gentleman tipping his hat to a friend. "My thanks."

Then, without warning, he attacked.

Lunging forward to meet him, I caught the blow on the flat of my blade, shoving him back hard and then ducking steeply as the lead-weighted butt of the stave whistled overhead. Aiming a quick slash at his legs I sprung backward, raising my blade again to catch the second counter, the shock of the blow numbing my hands. Pulling back for a heartbeat, I readied myself and then ploughed forward again, thrusting straight in with my sword.

From the first exchange of blows it was clear: Soltrane was very quick. Using both ends of his stave to attack and the whole to defend, he bordered on overwhelming. But the room was not a large one, and the furniture hampered the full reach and swing of his weapon. Ducking and twisting as best I could, my short blade posed no such problem. And while it was barely half the length of my old sword… I caught a thrust against the crosstree of my hilt, grabbing hold of the staff with my free hand and heaving hard. Soltrane stumbled forward, dragged down by the unexpected weight. Lashing out with my foot, I caught him hard in the midsection.

Breathing hard, Soltrane was keeping his distance now, flicking his stave now and then in my direction. On the defensive, then. Following his motion with my body, I kept my eyes locked on the shadows beneath the helm. If I could lock the stave again while on the offensive…

I charged forward again, aiming for his neck. The stave came up quickly, sliding along the length of my blade until it locked against the hilt again. _There!_ Reaching out quickly, I made to grab the staff again.

For a moment it seemed that I might; then it was gone, twisting away suddenly as Soltrane stepped in close, shifting his grip on the stave and wrenching it around, breaking my grip on my sword and sending it skittering away across the floor. Without stopping the motion the fat end of the staff smashed into the side of my head, snapping my face sideways as it whistled past. Grounding the weapon, Soltrane drove his foot into my gut, forcing me back. As I stumbled away, the stave came around one final time, one blow ringing off the shoulder plates of my armour before it reversed and followed the path of Soltrane's kick, deep into my stomach.

My vision darkened and blurred; hands groping reflexively at the wooden pole, I felt something hard scraping against my back and dimly realized that I had been forced against the wall. Something warm was dribbling down my chin, and the hot taste of iron was filling my mouth. I'd bitten my cheek when he'd smashed me in the face, but the pain paled next to the comparative agony of a blunt staff slowly being shoved into my stomach.

Soltrane leaned in close, not easing up on the staff. "You can do better than this, Zion. What happened to the power that beat me down in Kazas? Where's your strength?" He grated, pushing harder on the staff to emphasize his words.

'_You bastard,'_ I thought, but all that left my mouth was a broken snarl.

"Come on, Zion!" The staff drove deeper. "Or," He said quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper, "would you rather I called you Reon Aldas again, like this morning?"

'_What?' _My hands closed on the staff, the shadowy figure that was Soltrane swimming in and out of my vision. The red-eye spirit was there now, a spot of heat at the edge of my consciousness, within reach at last. Reaching out to touch it, I seized it with my mind, drawing everything I could from it.

Perhaps not quite ready for such a rude awakening, the spirit quite literally exploded into life. Flames burst angrily from the stone around my neck, the intensity of the heat driving Soltrane back a step or two, taking the stave with him while fire wreathed my body, flaring into incandescence as it began to form into armour.

Not waiting for it to finish, I stretched one hand out to Soltrane, palm raised outward. Pulling more power from the already blazing spirit, I formed the image of fire as best I could and let it go. The spell tore loose in a twisting torrent of fire that caught the knight at point blank, blasting him away.

I doubled over, gasping for breath as the transformation finished with one final flash. Slowly, my vision returned to normal. Wiping blood from my mouth with the back of my gauntlet I straightened as best I could, wincing. I had bitten almost clear through my cheek, and the blood was flowing like water. New hurts seemed to be springing up all over me now; that final combo of attacks Soltrane had launched had nearly taken me down for good.

However…

Slowly, wings flaring to balance myself, I limped over to where Soltrane lay splayed across the floor. Mariko already was crouched next to him, looking helpless and angry as she shook the knight, trying to stir him. By the time I had retrieved my sword the knight was conscious, helped into a sitting position by Mariko.

Kicking the knight's staff away, I flicked the sword point at the helm. "Take it off," I told the knight.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, slowly, as though it was causing some obscure pain, Soltrane reached up and unfastened the great helm, lifting it off and sitting it on the floor. With the same great care, one hand pulled away the singed cloth that had served to mask the lower two-thirds of the face, leaving it to hang loose around the neck piece of the armour.

Mariko made a soft sound that was almost a cry.

Amaya placed one hand unsteadily on the helm, meeting my eyes at last. Her face was burned and red, one side of her face already blistering from the flames that had scourged her. The long red hair around her face was singed and smoking, and her left eye was rapidly swelling shut. Smiling through cracked lips, she lowered her head. "Looks like the game went a little too far, Zion."

"Amaya? But… you're…"

She snorted, then winced. "Refrain from stating the obvious, if you would. It doesn't do much for the either of us."

I didn't trust myself to reply, because at that moment, pain stabbed through my stomach, sending me to my knees. Slowly, the armour disappeared, and I sunk down to the floor, the full force of the battle catching up with me at last. "I…still got you, though." I managed to force out at last.

"We're both running out of time, it would seem." She took a shallow breath. "All right, Zion. You won." Reaching into the neck of her armour, she withdrew something small and round and handed it to Mariko. "Here, My Lady." Smiling painfully, she let her hand drop to her side again. "You had best leave before the child returns and discovers it missing."

'_Before the child returns?'_ So Ry's diversion _had_ worked, whatever it was. Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I watched Mariko turn the spirit over in her hands, a slight frown fixed on her face as she puzzled over something. Abruptly she reached out and grabbed my spirit from where it dangled around my neck, holding it close to her own. For a moment nothing happened; then the two stones began to resonate together, the white-silver's pulsating glow growing stronger and stronger until my own red-eye spirit was lost within it. As the light reached its apex, I began to feel a particular sort of relief; there was a sensation like ice water trickling through my body, numbing the pain and returning some life to my tired limbs. And then the light faded, leaving me lying on my side on the floor with only a few bloody smears on my skin and clothes to suggest that I was ever injured. Sitting up, I felt myself over gingerly. No pain. No wounds.

Mariko tucked the spirit away into the front of her dress, then turned to Sol… Amaya, who sat in a similar state to myself. Giving a reassuring smile, she nodded mutely and got to her feet. Slowly, the two of us followed her lead.

Down in the city, the bells began to toll the midnight hour. Amaya glanced out over the balcony, then back at Mariko and I. "You should leave. Your friends will start worrying soon."

I hesitated, then nodded. "Right. Mariko? Let's go."

Mariko didn't move.

"Mariko? I mean it. We don't have much time."

She grabbed Amaya's arm and tugged it. Confused, Amaya looked at me, then back at the other woman. "Uh, Mariko…?"

Sighing heavily, she let go and stepped back a few paces. Then she pointed at the griffin helm lying on the floor, then back to Amaya, and then out the balcony doors, toward the city below. And then, after seeing the blank, uncomprehending stares on our faces, repeated the process three more times before at last something clicked.

"Wait… you don't mean…"

Folding her arms across her chest, Mariko nodded emphatically. Down in the city, the bells continued to toll. We were running out of time.

I stared, then took my head in my hands. It was probably the easiest way out, but Ry was so going to kill me for this…

-o-

Whatever objections I may have had at first, I did have to admit that having Amaya lead made things much simpler. Hidden under my helm, I followed behind her at a distance. Mariko kept close to me, her face hidden by the drooping hood of her cloak. Whatever nervousness I may have felt about the situation, she seemed completely at ease. She, at least, had faith in Soltrane- which seemed to puzzle the other woman even more than it confused me.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs ahead of us, Soltrane dismissed the guards and waved us down. When we reached her, turned to me. "Where were you to meet your friends?"

"In the central courtyard, I guess. But if they're in the courtroom, we'll need to find a way to get word to them first."

"I'll take care of that." Soltrane- as long as she wore that griffin helm, I couldn't think of her as any one else- turned away. "Now that our little bird here has seen fit to drag me into freedom right along with her, it doesn't look as though I'll have to worry about keeping up any pretences around here after this."

Keeping to the outer hallways, we continued down through the levels of the palace without incident. Any guards or servants we happened to encounter along the way were summarily dismissed or set to other tasks that took them in some other direction, leaving the way clear for us to pass through. By the time we reached the main floor, it might have been quarter after twelve at the latest.

As the entrance to the Chamber of the Sun came into view, Soltrane pulled the two of us off to one side, out of sight. "I'll fetch your friends. If you backtrack along this hallway a little way, you should find a stairway that will take you down into the courtyard. Wait for me near the base," she instructed curtly, "but if anyone comes down after you, keep on walking as though you were heading for the court room. I'll try to be quick." And with a swirl of her cloak she was gone, striding briskly around the corner toward the Chamber of the Sun.

I shook my head, looking down at Mariko. "You know, maybe it's the fact that I'm being helped by someone who's been trying to kill me lately, but this is really making me nervous. Are you positive we can trust her?"

Mariko nodded, her face almost completely hidden by the fabric of her hood. Taking my arm, she began to lead me back down the hallway, toward the stairway Soltrane had mentioned.

"You know, we really need to get you a pencil and some paper or something. That way you can sit down and explain your reasoning to me."

The pull on my arm became more insistent. Giving up, I let her drag me down the hall to the stairs. When we reached the bottom she let go of my arm and leaned up against the wall, pushing her hood back slightly. Following her lead, I sank down into a crouch to wait, hoping that the dread knight wouldn't be long.

Now that we were outdoors again, the wind seemed to be picking up slightly. Wishing that I had thought to bring a proper cloak with me, I wrapped my arms around myself, hoping that some heat would find its way through the steel plates covering my jerkin. It wasn't especially cold out, compared to the weather that we got in Serdio some days, but after spending the last week or so under the blazing Tiberoian sun, it was more than cold enough to start me shivering. Hoping that the shaking wouldn't start rattling any armour, I closed my eyes and tucked my head down to my chest, willing the chill to pass.

"Zion? Is that you?"

Someone was coming down the stairs. Opening my eyes, I looked up as Kaelin squatted down next to me, her own brown cloak wrapped loosely around her. "There you are. Where were you?"

"Around." She rocked back onto her heels. "I didn't have any luck though."

"Don't worry." I pointed to Mariko, who was peering around the corner ahead, presumably waiting for Soltrane to return. "I found her."

"Really? The spirit too?"

"Yeah. I think we ran into a slight bump in the plan, though."

Kaelin's eyes narrowed. "'Bump'? I don't like the sound of that, Zion. What happened?"

"Well…" I scratched my nose, trying to think of the easiest way to put this. "Mariko- the dragoon- has a… friend of sorts who she adamantly refuses to leave without."

"A friend? Zion, don't be cryptic with me."

"Ah…" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mariko returning with a relieved expression on her face. "Why don't you see for your self?"

"Huh?" She looked up, just in time to see Soltrane round the corner, Solana and Cai trailing behind her. Leaping to her feet with a curse, her hands automatically dove into her sleeves for her knives. "Zion! What the hell kind of a joke is this?"

Grabbing her arm, I pulled her back down and hissed, "Shut up! Do you want the whole palace to hear?"

"What does Soltrane have to do with all of this?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Cai had just come within earshot. "Zion, just what is going on here?"

Looking helplessly from one angry face to the next, I finally gave up and got to my face. "I'll explain when we're outta here," I muttered. "I don't really like it either, but Mariko won't leave without her."

"Her?" Kaelin said sharply.

I buried my face in my hands. "Just… go with me on this one. We need to get out of here, and Soltrane's agreed to help us do it. I'll explain the rest once we catch up with Ry, okay? We're going to need him around to figure everything out."

For a moment Cai looked as though he was about to say something, but then Soltrane cut in, interrupting him smoothly.

"We don't have much time. If we're going to leave, we must go now, before someone discovers that I dismissed the guards." She looked around. "Zion's right. Any explanations will have to wait until later. Are we ready?"

Avoiding the main gate, we left the palace grounds through a secondary gate in the outer wall. Cai and Kaelin went on to the stables ahead of us to prepare the horses, so that when the rest of us caught up our mounts were ready and waiting. We did run into some trouble here; even after purchasing an extra horse for Mariko, that left five horses for the six of us. In the end Solana gave up her horse to Soltrane and rode on the front of Cai's saddle, one of his arms wrapped around her waist to make sure that she didn't slip.

We kept the mounts to a walk until we were clear of the city gates. After that we traveled at a fast canter, pounding along the hard beaten road in a loose cluster as we pushed to put as much distance between us and the city as possible.

When we had gone perhaps two or three miles, I drew rein and slowed my horse's pace slightly so that I could get a good look around. Ry had left us somewhere near here earlier that evening, intending to draw the Moon Child away from the palace to make things easier for us. As I looked around, however, there was nothing to be seen save for barren rock and scrub, stretching across the landscape for as far as the eye could see.

Catching up to me, Kaelin slowed her horse's pace to match mine. "He's not here," she called, raising her voice to be heard over the rumble of hoof beats.

"I wouldn't worry too much about him," I replied, giving my horse a little more head when he began to champ at the bit. "He can take care of himself."

Kaelin didn't answer, but she did take one last look out over the waste before pushing her mount ahead again, leaving me to ride at the back of the group by myself.

**Kaelin's POV:**

Ry hadn't returned with us.

After returning to Solana's some time after two in the morning, we'd retreated to Solana's study to rest up a bit and wait for him. However, after ten minutes of sitting in dead, tired silence, I had left my cloak on a chair and left, to restless to sit still. After wandering through the house for I bit, I finally settled down near a window that faced the stable, allowing me to see anyone who passed across the moonlit yard. Every now and then my eyelids began to droop; angrily, I forced myself to stay awake. After I got the chance to talk to Ry, then I could sleep. But not until.

Fortunately, I didn't have long to wait. I had been waiting for maybe twenty minutes when a shadow crossed the yard from the stables. I waited, expecting him to come through the front door, but he passed by, heading for the kitchen door around the back of the house.

A little peeved, I got to my feet and followed, picking my way through the hallways toward the kitchen. It was a little out of the way, but no matter. Reaching the kitchen door, I pulled it open and sidled in.

No lamps were lit, but Ry was already there, sitting in the moonlight on the edge of a table. He had been examining his leg, but looked up as I entered, his face lost in the shadows of his hair.

"You guys made it back in one piece?"

"Yeah." Pushing the door shut behind me, I started towards him. "Did you hurt yourself or something?"

"This?" He gestured at his leg, which I could now see was seeping dark blood over his pants. "It reopened while I was riding back. I think that the bleeding's just about stopped, though. Did everything go okay?"

"Depends on how you look at it."

Ry looked up, holding his hand tightly over the wound. "What happened?"

Picking up a cloth from the counter behind me, I tossed it to him. "Don't worry about it for the moment. Clean yourself up first. I think the cooks keep some remedies on hand in case of emergencies."

"Thanks." Ry caught it, pressing it to the wound. Getting to his feet, he began opening and closing the kitchen cupboards. When he found what he wanted, he pulled the bottle down and set it on the counter, working the cork out with his teeth. Pouring some of the potion onto the cloth, he began to dab at the gash on his hip.

I licked my lips. _'Here goes nothing,'_ I thought to myself. "I was doing some reading earlier."

"Really." Ry poured more potion onto the cloth, holding it tightly to his wounded hip. "Now why would you be doing that?"

"Oh, you know. We all were desperate for something to do this morning." I sat on the edge of the counter behind me, dangling my feet above the floor. "Solana has quite a big collection of periodicals in her study, so I spent some time catching up on recent history."

He pulled the cloth away and touched the newly mended skin gingerly, testing it. Satisfied, he wet the cloth again with water and set to work cleaning the dried blood from his hip. "You must have really been bored."

"Not really," I shrugged. "There's some interesting stuff, if you know where to look for it."

"Yeah?" Ry hesitated, then reached for a new rag. "Like what?"

"Lots of stuff. You interested in anything about the Black Monster at all?"

The rag slipped in his hand, and he glanced over at me. "I've read up on it once or twice. Why?"

Ha. Now I had his attention. I shrugged again, trying to look casual. "Nothing really. I just found some interesting stuff, that's all." I pulled my feet up onto the counter, wrapping my arms around my legs and resting my chin on my knees. "Did you know, that except for an incident in Serdio a few months ago, the Black Monster hasn't really been seen in almost ten years."

Getting to his feet, Ry walked across the kitchen to the water basin and began rinsing out his cloth. His back to me, he shot a glance back over his shoulder. "That's interesting. I guess all those stories circulating over the past few years must just have been rumours, then." Taking the cloth in both hands, he wrung it tightly. The sound of the water dripping back into the basin seemed hollow in the cavernous kitchen, disjointed and lost in the darkness.

I scratched the back of my head. "Funny thing, that. You see, they weren't really rumours. Just an exaggeration." I took a deep breath. "The Moon Child was attacked, but it wasn't the Black Monster who did it. Just two, regular men."

The cloth dropped back into the water with a splash. Leaning over the sink, Ry seemed almost to struggle with himself, quite deliberately not looking back at me. The silence stretched.

At last, he spoke. "All right, Kaelin. What do you want?" There was an edge to his voice, as though he was expecting a fight at any moment.

"The truth, Ry. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Really. By the sound of it, you've already decided what that is."

I flushed slightly. "I've been looking into this for a while, Ry."

"I don't doubt it."

"Would you stop it?" I snapped angrily, then immediately regretted it as he turned around suddenly, the moonlight from the window behind him casting his features in sharp relief.

"Stop it?" His eyes narrowed. "You're one to talk. I told you to keep your nose out of my life, Kaelin. What I do isn't really any of your business."

"'What you do'? So it was you, then." I retorted, fighting down the wave of anxiety that was rising in my throat. I shouldn't be pushing things this far, but it was out in the open, now. However he might react, I was determined to get my answers out of him one way or another.

Ry opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again angrily. "You..." He seemed to struggle, searching for the words, but could find none. At last his shoulders sagged and he turned away again, grabbing the back of a chair and pulling it toward him. Straddling it, he sat down, resting his arms on the back while he avoided my gaze. "Why do you keep after me like this, Kaelin? Don't you think you know enough already?"

That surprised me. I had expected him to yell at me, argue with me; not just deflate like this. Unsure of exactly what to do, I replied carefully, "I don't like being left in the dark, Ry. Put your self in my shoes for a moment. I've been following you around for a few months now with only a few blind assurances to guide me. With all the crap we've been through, it's like being led blindfolded along a clifftop."

Ry said nothing.

"I know you don't like it, but please."

"And if I do? What will you do then?" He lifted his head to meet my gaze, his pale blue eyes piercing even in the shadowy gloom. "Tell everyone else?"

"I've suspected this since this morning, Ry." I reminded him gently. "If I really thought everyone needed to know, don't you think I would have told them already?"

His eyes dropped. "Maybe."

"Ry, please. Were you one of the men attacking the Moon Child?"

Silence.

Then, "Yes."

I felt a chill run up my spine. "Who was the other man?"

"A friend of mine. He's a wingly."

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the chill. It was one thing to suspect it; to hear it from his own mouth was another thing entirely. "Why?"

"That's a hard question." He looked up again. "Why what?"

I snorted. "Why did you do it, obviously. It's not like _you're_ the Black Monster or anything, so what reason could you possibly have for going after her?"

"Reason?" He frowned. "Kaelin, let me ask you something. Try not to be sarcastic, because I mean this in the most serious way imaginable. Did you ever honestly stop to think what the Moon Child is supposed to do? Or the Black Monster kills the Moon Children?"

I waved one hand vaguely. "Easy. The Moon Child is supposed to bring us our Utopia. The Black Monster doesn't want that to happen, so the thing kills them whenever they're born."

"Right. Now think about it for a moment. How would the Moon Child create a Utopia?"

"How?" I snorted. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Kaelin..."

"Right, fine. No sarcasm." I looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "I guess she'd have to fix up this world."

"You'd think." Ry rested his chin on his arms. "But could she? This world is so corrupted and flawed, it's hardly the material for the Utopia she'd desire. She'd have to start over. From scratch."

"From scratch?" I frowned, still looking at the ceiling. "But that would mean that..."

"Exactly."

"No way!" I said sharply, jerking my gaze down again. "This would be her world? Why would she do that?"

He shook his head. "This world isn't hers, though. It belongs to Soa. In order to have her own world, her own Utopia, she'd have to remake the world. And all the creatures within it."

"But..." My head reeled. I had never been fond of the Moon Child, true, but still...

"There's another name for the Moon Child," Ry continued, ignoring my interruption, "or at least for the spirit that resides within it. The Virage Embryo. The god of destruction."

My voice felt weak. "But that's... I mean... how do you know this?"

"Someone a great deal more knowledgeable than I told me a long time ago." He said softly. "And I've met others who have had solid proof of the same. Do you see what I mean, Kaelin? Sometimes the truth is not really what you need to hear."

"Why didn't you tell us?" I asked, my voice subdued.

"Who would believe me? Zion might, but you know how Cai would look at it. Solana would follow Cai, and sooner or later I'd have a fight on my hands." He held my gaze steady. "As it is, I don't even know why you're still here listening."

I hesitated. Why _was_ I? A month ago, I would never have even considered this, and yet...

Slowly, I shook my head. "I don't really know either. It sounds crazy, and I think we've all had some second thoughts about your sanity at one point or another, but at the same time..." I heaved a sigh and shook my head again. "I can't believe that I'm saying this, but... I trust you."

Ry's eyebrows raised. "Completely?"

I snorted. "Hell no. I'd really have to be a fool to do that. But I can read people, and for all the times in the past that you've held things back from all of us..." I looked at the floor. "This time, I think you really are telling the truth."

"I've been telling the truth all along, Kaelin. It's just that sometimes people won't accept the whole thing, so you can only tell them what they're ready to know." He folded his arms on the back of the chair and rested his chin on them, watching me. "As it stands, so far you're the only one who's actually seen deep enough into the situation to corner me like this."

I laughed, but there was no humour in it. "More like I'm the only one with the guts to," I said. "No one will admit it, but you scare us. All of us. When someone gets you angry, well, it's like..." I trailed off, suddenly conscious of how intently he was staring at me.

"Like I'm an entirely different person." He finished quietly.

"Yeah." I pulled my knees closer to my chest, suddenly feeling chilled. Was it just me, or was the night air finding its way into the kitchen?

Ry sighed and turned his eyes away, looking at the shadows next to the door. "I'm sorry that you guys feel that way, but I can't really help you there. I am who I am. If I have a bad temper, there's not all that much I can do about it.

_'You're wrong, Ry. Cai has a bad temper. You've got a demon inside you.'_ But for once, I kept my thoughts to my self. Instead, I took a different route. "So if you're after the Moon Child, why have you spent so much time trying to gather the dragoons together? If she's going to be the cause of this catastrophe that you keep hinting at, why don't you let us handle it?"

Ry sighed. He looked tired now, and it wasn't just an illusion of the shadows filling the kitchen. "If Ayrel had her way, the lot of you would be fighting for her, not against her. She doesn't really need your power, mind you, but neither of us wants to have to go through a flock of dragoons to get at the other."

"So you're saying that we're pawns." I said flatly.

He shook his head. "Don't believe it for a minute. To her, yes, you would be, but the way things are developing, I honestly need all of you. If I can have it my way, it'll only be me and her in the end, but until then there's battles that you'll need to fight. For your sakes. Not mine."

"I don't know," I said, a bit dubiously. "That still makes it sound like we're just pawns. I don't like that."

Ry sighed again, then tried a different approach. "Look at it this way, then. The dragoons only gather when the world has need, correct? And since the group of you seems to be growing larger every time I turn around, that should be a fair indication that there is something that needs to be attended to. With me so far? All right." He closed his eyes a moment. "The dragoons were meant to be resisting the Moon Child. It's happened at different times throughout history, and it's happening again. In a very real way, you were born for this."

"All right," I conceded. "Makes sense. But where do you come into all of this?"

He hesitated. "I guess that you could call me the maverick. Fate's wild card. You may be dragoons, but none of you really have very much experience. As a group or one on one, none of you are ready to face off against the Moon Child. I've been resisting her for a very long time, so I'm the one who's making up the balance." He scratched the back of his head, and for the first time that night, smiled. "I'd say that I'm really not supposed to be here, but since this is fate that we're dealing with, that wouldn't work."

"But if this is true, then why does she want us on her side?"

He shrugged. "Ayrel is used to having things her own way. She doesn't really seem to know that much about dragoons and fate: the only thing that she's concerned with is finding ways to get at me. And if she thinks she has to bend fate to do that, she'll probably try to do just that."

I let this sink in, rubbing my forehead. "This is too complicated." I grumbled. "Why couldn't things just be simple for a change?"

"You're starting to sound like Zion."

"Be nice," I chided. "So that's it, then."

"More or less."

Slowly, I slid off of the countertop. "I still think it's all a bit incredible."

Getting to his feet, Ry pushed the chair away. "It is." He said simply. "But you said that you trusted me."

"I know," I grumbled. "That's what bothers me. Now that you've told me all this, I don't know whether I should or not."

One eyebrow raised, Ry waited.

I scrubbed at my eyes. "On the one hand, what you're telling me goes against everything that I've been taught. You've been trying to kill the Moon Child for years, and you're also the reason that she's after us." I exhaled. "But, on the other hand, you haven't led us wrong so far. And then there's the fact that you even bothered to tell me this. You're too smart to come up with something as stupid sounding as this for a lie."

"So nice of you to say so," he replied dryly. Then he held out his hand.

I bit my lip, holding my breath while I thought it over once more. Then I let it out slowly. Reaching out, I clasped his hand tightly. "Yeah. I trust you."

Ry held it for a moment then let go, smiling in what looked oddly like relief as I stepped around him and opened the door to the hallway. "Kaelin? Thank you."

"Don't make me regret it." I stopped; holding the door wide open as a second thought wormed its way into my head. "Besides, it's not as though -you're- the monster, is it?"

"What do you think?" He brushed past me through the door, blinking in the comparatively bright light of the hallway outside. "We're all monsters on the inside, Kaelin. It's what makes us human." He glanced down at me, and it suddenly struck me that for all he claimed to have been through, he couldn't have been far over thirty. "You won't be telling anyone about this." It wasn't really a question.

I crossed my arms and looked up, meeting his gaze eye for eye. "I told you that I trusted you in this. Now you're just going to have to trust me."

We stood like that for a moment, eyes locked. Then, to my amazement, he turned away first. "You're right," he admitted. Then he laughed aloud, startling me. "Looks like you're not the only one who needs to learn how to trust people again. Jeez..." He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. "Right. So what was this important matter you mentioned earlier? Did everything go alright?"

"What? Oh, right." I bit my lip, pulling my thoughts back into order. "The depends on how you look at it. We found the Mariko- the white-silver-" I supplied for him when he gave me a questioning look, "but we ended up with an unexpected guest. She might cause us some trouble later on, but for now we're stumped as to what to do with her."

"Ah. Where are they?"

"Everyone's waiting up in Solana's study."

"Right." The smile faded from Ry's face. "They're probably wondering what's keeping us, then."

We headed up to Solana's study in silence, both of us lost in thought.

_'We're all monsters on the inside...'_ What did he mean by that? He couldn't be the Black Monster. I mean, he was only thirty or so, and the monster had existed since... well... since the start of human record at least. But at the same time...

My head spun. I was too tired to deal with all of this; not only wasn't I making any sense, I was starting to think that I was becoming delusional as well.

"Arrgh..."

"Hmm?"

"...Nothing. I just need some sleep."

"Ah." Ry rubbed the corner of his eye. "I think we all could. It's been a hard day."

'For you or for us?' Muttering an incoherent reply, I did my best to put my thoughts to rest. The speculating was done for tonight: any more information and my head was in serious danger of exploding. I had told Ry that I trusted him, and for better or worse, I knew in my heart that I had meant it. Where that might lead, well...

Sometimes, you have to make a leap of faith.

* * *

I hereby dub this chapter the chapter of _Excruciatingly Long but Necessary Conversation_! Huzzah! -.-; The damn thing never seemed to end, even while I was writing it. This ought to be the longest chapter, period. The only things that might be this long ever again are the final two chapters, and I somehow doubt even that.

Sorry if I confused anyone with Zion constantly referring to Amaya as 'Soltrane', even after he realizes who she really is. It's a bit of a psychological thing; when he sees the armour, he automatically thinks of her as Soltrane, not Amaya. That just sort of worked its way into the writing.

**IMPORTANT:**

Sorry guys, but there's going to be a definite hiatus between this chapter and the next. Why? I have another story that I _need _to have written and finished in about two months time for a writing contest. Unfortunately, this is going to take up most of my free time, so any other writing or work that I'll get done will be minimal. _–cries-_ Argh. Oh well; not much to be done there except to hope that I can get through this story relatively quickly while doing a good job. _–crosses fingers-_ Oh well.

Again, apologies. Please don't bother me as to when the next chapter will be up, because I honestly don't know. New stuff will still being posted on my Deviant art account, for those who are interested, but other than that… -_shrugs_-

Top of Form


	53. Aid

_Shade sits in the corner of her room, attached to her laptop by a short leash-_

Dart: _-dusts off his hands-_ There! No more distractions for you!

Shade: ;-;

Well finally! Between finishing the contest entry, finishing my portfolio, my AP English exam, karate ranking, horse shows, and a bazillion other things that kept biting me on the backside, I finally got around to finishing it. -.-; Talk about taking a while to get back into the swing of things.

I know. I shouldn't be making excuses. So shoot me, dagnabbit! They had merit at th- GAH!

_-Shade is gunned down by a few dozen happy people who have probably wanted to do so for quite some time-_

Well, enough of my rambling. Back to my usual course of work.

**The Sharra:** I did give away some indicators of Soltrane's gender earlier on, though they were pretty obscure. They were all sort of incidental at the time. :P

**AngelusTheAngelicDemon:** Ragnarok's 'sword' isn't exactly his. I wrote it in as a relic from the spell used when the ancient winglies sealed him in the first place. Dragon buster to fight him, Dragon block staff to seal him- and the sword to anchor him. Ragnarok had Dart retrieve it afterward because though it doesn't have the same properties as the other two items, it's still pretty much indestructible as a weapon.

**Goochflex:** Actually, had Dart simply told Kaelin just to call him 'Dart', it would have slowed things down, rather then sped things up. She'd be rather 'wtf' about it all, since history as she knows it says that he's nearly a thousand years dead. If she believed him all, that is. In any case, he's still trying to hold back a bit from her, at least. O.o Dart has information constipation. Tee hee!

**GundamWingFanatic90:** Ack, I'm going to have to root back through my hard drive for this one. Right. The names I used for the Great Dragons were as follows: Rythl (red-eye), Madgor (violet), Xern (blue-sea), Acrrea (dark burst), Kaze (jade), Evengil (white-silver), and Umbre (golden). I don't mention them anymore, but I believe that's what they were. I might go back and change them during the re-writing process, though Rythl and Acrrea will remain the same because they're the only two I really ever mentioned more than once, and I don't like the others that much anymore.

**Sors:** 1) Yup. The darkness and thunder spirits are the only two left unclaimed.

2) Dart pissy about not killing Ayrel? Hell yeah, as we get to see this chapter. 'Course, he wasn't about to explode on Kaelin just then…

* * *

**Dart's POV:**

((Of all the stupid…))

(Ark…)

((Idiotic…))

(Ragnarok…)

((_Moronic_ things, you had to go and open your damned mouth, didn't you?)) Ark snarled. ((I thought you wanted to keep them in the dark about all of this!))

I sighed. Kaelin glanced over at me momentarily before looking away again, slipping back into her own stupor. We were walking through the darkened hallways of Solana's manor house, heading upstairs to join the others in Solana's study. Neither of us spoke; all that had needed to be said had been said back in the shadows of the kitchen. Now we walked in silence, each of us digesting our own thoughts. At least, I assumed that she was. I, on the other hand…

(What else could I have done, Ark?) I asked, annoyed. (If I had told her anything else, she would have known it was a lie. She had me backed into a corner)

((I could have wiped her memory, at least)) He snapped back. ((You know that as well as I do. And don't even start about not wanting to touch her or hurt her or whatever. She's figured out enough already. How much longer before she puts it all together?))

(I don't think she will) I disagreed. (I know she's nosy, but she's got all of her answers now. She doesn't have any reason to pry anymore)

Ark snorted. ((You're deluding yourself, Dart. No one's around. If you're quick, we could have her memory blank as a sheet in about ten seconds))

(And have her completely clueless about all that's going on? I know as well as you do how inaccurate your memory wipes are. She might lose everything altogether. Anyway…) I said, as we rounded a corner in the hallway and began to climb a short flight of stairs (why are you so upset? I thought you wanted me to tell them)

Ark snarled and fell silent. Wearily, I passed a hand over my eyes. I knew the reason behind Ark's irritation; far from really caring about Kaelin's discovery, it really meant very little to him. But when he was angered he felt the need to lash out somehow, and Kaelin's confrontation had given him something to chew on while he seethed. Ayrel's unexpected risk in the Valley of Corrupted Gravity had cheated him of his kill, leaving us both frustrated and bitter. But while Ark was free to express himself in the isolation of my mind, I was forced to keep a straight face, stewing on the inside while doing my best not to let anything show without. So far, at least, so good. But…

We reached the door to Solana's study. Kaelin hesitated with her hand hovering above the brass knob, glancing at me sideways.

"Just a word of warning, Ry? Try not to do anything too… unexpected in there, okay? I know you've probably had a rough time this evening, but…" She shook her head. "Just try to keep in mind that we're exhausted too, and as confused as hell to boot. Zion's had a particularly bad night by the sound of it, and all this stress has Cai in a temper again."

"Why am I not surprised?" I said wearily. Then, aside to Ark (You hear that? Keep your ranting to yourself, okay?)

The dragon rumbled something that might have been an agreement, though I couldn't have been sure. Not wanting to press the issue, I let him be. Instead, I turned my attention back to Kaelin. "Would you mind telling me who this unexpected guest is, Kaelin? You've been acting rather ominous about it, so I gather that I'm not going to like this much, will I?"

She took her hand from the knob and stepped back from the door. "It's that messenger from this morning. I guess she's a friend of Mariko's, because the woman refused to leave without her. But she-"

"Really." I reached past her and grabbed the knob with a grimace. "It could have been worse, I suppose." Light spilled into the dim hallway as I pulled the door open wide, bringing with it the dusky scent of leather and old paper.

Several things happened at once. Kaelin, suddenly panicking, lunged forward and grabbed my elbow, trying to pull me back as the door swung open. The study was suddenly filled with the sound of scraping chairs as Zion, Cai, and Solana got to their feet as one, a mixture of apprehension and relief evident on their faces. Only two remained seated. One, a slim, pale-haired young woman with violet eyes and a blue cloak, only sat up a bit straighter, looking startled. The other remained seated at the edge of the hearth, suddenly tense, like a snake poised to strike. Our eyes met for a moment as I froze in the doorway, my eyes flickering from her face to the crafted armor -half covered by a cloak- that lay in a jumbled heap beside her. At last my gaze focused on the helm resting on the floor at her knees.

Only Kaelin's weight on my sword arm prevented me from going for my blade. Still, I dragged her forward a step or two as I advanced angrily, feeling Ark come alert with anticipation. "What," I snarled, "in Soa's name is a dread knight doing _here_?"

"Ry!" Kaelin hauled mightily on my arm, holding me back. "Zion! Help me out here!" She panted.

Vaulting over a table, Zion seized me by the shoulders and forced me back into the doorway, pinning me against the doorframe. Kaelin let go of my arm with a gasp of relief as I struggled angrily for a moment and then gave up, knowing full well that when it came to brute strength, I was no match for Zion. Breathing heavily, I glared around his arm at the knight.

"What do you think you're doing?" Kaelin hissed. "I thought I told you to try to keep a hold of yourself!"

"Speak for your self!" I snapped back. "Why didn't you tell me that she was a dread knight?"

"I was going to, but you decided to go barge in before I could finish!" She glared at me, and then took a deep breath. "Just calm down, Ry," she told me through gritted teeth, "and listen for a moment, would you? The only way that we could get Mariko to leave the palace was if Soltrane- that is, Amaya- could be taken with us. We didn't have a choice."

"She's right, Ry." Zion eased up his grip slightly, though he still held me pinned tight to the wall. "Anyway, we would have had a hard time getting out of the palace without her. Amaya gave Mariko the spirit, and then left her station and dismissed all of the guards from their posts so that we could get past. From what Solana says, if she heads back to the palace now, she'll be hit with everything from dereliction of duty to high treason."

I shot a look over at Solana, who nodded in confirmation. "Is that so." With a vast effort I managed to rein in my anger, letting my muscles go slack and ceasing my struggles altogether. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. "All right Zion, relax. I'll restrain my homicidal impulses for the moment," I told him, smiling humorlessly. "I promise," I added when he hesitated.

((Unfortunately)) Ark grumbled. He had perked up momentarily at the prospect of a fight, but had returned to his sulking once he realized that Zion had me pinned. ((You should've moved faster, Dart. Some blood would make me feel much better right about now))

Kaelin gave me a dark look, as though she didn't quite believe me, but she said nothing as Zion backed off, still looking a bit wary. On the other side of the room Cai sunk slowly back into his chair, looking thoroughly disgruntled. One by one, the rest of us found our way back into the scattered chairs, save for Zion, who opted to sit on the edge of a bookcase instead.

I stripped off my sword belt before sitting down, leaning it carefully against the back of my chair. My jacket followed, and I sat with some relief, aware of the eyes following my movements. (I get angry once, and they're all jumpy as rats for the rest of the night) I grumbled. Running my hand through my dusty hair, I took a few more steadying breaths to make sure I had a hold of myself completely before I spoke. "All right. Who's going to explain what exactly happened tonight?"

Somewhat surprisingly, it was Cai who spoke up first. "I don't think any of us are really sure," he admitted. "Solana and I were able to sneak Zion into the palace by passing him off as a bodyguard easily enough, and Kaelin was able to sneak in through some other entrance. While we were in the court we received a message from one of Solana's informants, telling us who exactly our visitor this morning really was, but by then there was nothing that we could do to warn Zion. The next thing we know, Soltrane here-" he nodded to the woman sitting on the hearth, "-comes to fetch us from the courtroom, claiming to be our escort to the queen. But when we got out to the courtyard, well…" he shrugged. "Zion and the girl were waiting, and somewhere along the line Kaelin had found her way back to them as well. At that point, there didn't seem to be anything to do but run for it and ask questions later."

I leaned forward. "Zion? You said it was you who found her, then?"

Zion nodded, and briefly filled us in on the details of his conversation with Soltrane at the top of the tower and the fight, followed by their escape. I listened intently, forgetting my anger for the moment in my fascination. When he finished I sat quietly for a moment, mulling things over. At last I looked over at the two newcomers who, throughout the entire conversation, had remained silent.

"Mariko, was it? And you…" I frowned.

The dread knight met my eyes. "Amaya will be fine," she supplied, her voice soft and toneless. I kept my eyes on her a moment, trying to read her expression, before giving up.

"Right. You're going to have to fill in the gaps for us here, I'm afraid. Start at the beginning, and don't leave anything out." I smiled, though it felt thin and forced. It was more of a demand than a question, though at this point, I'd given up on upholding any pretence of politeness or patience. My outburst had shown everyone exactly what sort of mood I was in; trying to cover it up with a show of forced friendliness would do nothing. But if that were the case, and the others were really as wary of my moods as she said they were, then letting a bit of my anger show though a bit more probably wouldn't hurt. "I think we'd all like to know what has been going on exactly with your side of things."

The focus of the room shifted from myself to Amaya, who for the first time began to show some sign of discomfort. Picking up the helm from where it lay, she buffed it on her sleeve and stared into it, as though the answer lay hidden within the dark sheen. At length, however, she set it aside, uneasy under the scrutiny of so many eyes. "The beginning," she repeated slowly, getting to her feet. "You'll have to pardon me if I take some time with this, I'm afraid. I'm not even sure if I know where to start anymore."

((She had damn well better)) Ark muttered waspishly. ((Now that that brat got away, we don't have all night for listening to explanations if we're going to make it out of the country in time))

(We'll worry about that later) I told him. Then, to Amaya, "You don't have to give us your life story, or anything. You're a sworn knight, right? Just explain why you suddenly decided to help us out after you swore allegiance to the moon child."

"That's right," Solana put in. "Dread knights are reputed to be on the verge of fanatical when it comes to their oaths to the child."

Amaya nodded. "Many are. The moon child draws people from all walks of life; it doesn't matter what a person's background is, as long as they're willing to fight, they're allowed to enlist as guardsmen. A talented boy from a poor family could conceivably enlist and become an officer within a year or two. The temples are very free with their coin towards the soldiers, so attachments tend to form very quickly. Those of us who go on to become dread knights are required to serve directly under the child herself in her honor guard shortly after our elevation." She paused, a distant look in her eyes. "Serving under her… affects all of us, for better or for worse."

((Fanaticism)) Ark affirmed. ((I had thought as much))

"Really." I leaned back in my chair slightly, not taking my eyes from her face. "How long ago did you serve in the guard?"

"Two years ago. Maybe three." Amaya shrugged. "As a captain, I've been given personal assignments from her directly more than once, but I've avoided the guard ever since I left it."

"Why?" It was Zion who spoke up this time. He had since slid off of the bookcase and now sat on the floor. "I thought that serving in the guard is some sort of an honor."

"For some. For me…" She trailed off, shaking her head again. "In truth, I could never stand the position. My allegiance has always been to Commander Mychael before the child, for one reason or another. The child… makes me feel small. Unlike Mariko, I have no abilities in the realm of magic, but when you're near that girl, it's as though…" Again she stumbled, searching for the words. "I feel… like there's some unbearable pressure slowly crushing my spirit. I don't enjoy feeling that helpless. Others feel that it is a sign of her power and revere her for it, but I've never been able to feel that way. But once I became a dread knight, it seemed that there was no way to back out. The moon child by now had discovered my abilities, and had begun giving me private assignments. Every time I tried to find a way to pull out, something else would come up to draw me in even tighter." She smiled for the first time, though it was tinged with a bitter self-resentment. "Some might call it loyalty, but I've always felt it was closer to slavery. There's a fine line between the two, sometimes.

"To say it plainly, yes, I did swear an oath. But I've never been satisfied since. When we found Mariko-" she looked down at the other woman, her expression softening slightly, "- I realized that if she were to become a dragoon for the sake of the temples, she'd be no better off than I would. Worse, if they decided to take her mother into custody to control her." She lifted her head, meeting my eyes. "That's no way to live, not for any creature. Mariko's one of the few people who I have ever cared to call a friend, and, failing that, she was appointed my ward. At first I wasn't sure what to do. When I heard about the dragoon sightings in Fueno, though…" She shrugged. "I saw a way out for her, even if it meant nothing for me."

I sat silently, digesting her story as she settled down again next to the heap of armor. Solana must have been going to great pains not to attract any unneeded attention from the servants if she had had the woman remove her steel in here rather than in another room or antechamber. (What do you think?) I asked Ark.

((It sounds a bit far fetched. But,)) He admitted ((lies would do her no good now, and she knows that. High treason, they said?))

(Among other things. She's a dead woman if the temples get their hands on her)

((True. You don't suppose that Ayrel let this happen on purpose, do you? Amaya could have been sent by her to try and take us from behind))

I blinked slowly, feeling my eyes start to itch with fatigue. (She's too proud to let someone else finish matters for her. Besides, I doubt that she would have allowed herself to become so drawn into that fight earlier if she had another plan in reserve)

"Wait a minute," Kaelin said suddenly, her voice pulling me back from my conversation with the dragon, "How did you know that we would come for her? Were you just lying about that whole 'message' thing this morning?"

"No." Amaya shook her head, her long red braid swaying slightly. "The summons was a real one. After the disappearance of both the jade spirit and the Anlades earlier this month- and the emergence of the jade dragoon in the harbor of Fueno a few weeks later- I had some suspicions on the matter. I volunteered to carry the summons in hopes that I might find some way to confirm it. I wasn't entirely sure at first," she admitted, "But once I found Zion lurking around in the stables, I became sure." She smiled slightly. "One can only accept so many coincidences before a possibility becomes a certainty, no?"

Kaelin nodded thoughtfully then looked over at me. "Well? What are we going to do with her?"

Next to Amaya, Mariko sat up very straight in her chair, cloak falling forgotten from her shoulders with the sudden movement. Incredulously, she looked back and forth between Kaelin and I, and then, for some reason, looked pleadingly at Zion. Uncomfortable, Zion cleared his throat. "Ah, I think we have a bit of a problem here. Mariko made it rather clear back in the tower that she wouldn't budge an inch if Amaya wouldn't come with. I think she'll help us, but only if Amaya stays."

I stared at him for a moment, then reached up to rub my head with my hand. (I'm starting to get a headache) I grumbled, more for my own benefit than Ark's. When he didn't reply, I let my hand drop back onto the armrest. "Why is it that everything seems to come with strings attached these days? All right. Assume –just _assume_- for a moment, if we were to send you away, what would you do?" I ignored Mariko's glare, keeping my eyes on Amaya instead.

"Nothing. I'm a dead man walking –if you'll excuse the expression. Whether you leave me in the waste or kill me here and now, it doesn't make much difference. No one can hide from the child forever, and even if I wanted to, there's nothing that I could say or do to repent."

"I thought as much," I grimaced, but at that particular moment, something else caught my attention. Too tired to be disbelieving I got to my feet, twisting the carrier belt around until the final two spirits came into the light. The violet remained cold and dormant. The other glowed softly; radiating a bitter chill that had begun to numb my hip from the moment Amaya had unfalteringly pronounced her sentence. Popping it deftly from its holder, I held it up to examine it, aware of the total silence that had engulfed the room.

Something tightened in my throat. Others had used the spirit before, of course, but I had always thought of the stone belonging to Rose, and no one else. The thought of it openly accepting another bearer like this had never really struck home until this moment. In an instant I finally realized exactly how out of place I really was in this time. The dragoons, my friends of my own personal time, were gone; now, lifetimes later, they were being replaced. For the first time, I thought that I finally understood how Rose must have felt as she watched the spirits claim my friends one by one.

"And then there were six." Feeling particularly detached, I dropped the spirit into Amaya's hand, I retrieved my things from the back of the chair and started to the door.

Just before I pulled the door open, Cai rose from his chair. "Ry?"

"Get what rest you can." I didn't bother turning around as the door swung inward. "We leave tomorrow at dawn. We're going to have to press hard if we're going to make it to Doneau without being discovered." Shutting the door firmly behind me, I strode up the chilly corridor in silence, struggling to come to terms with the whirlwind of emotions warring inside me.

**Ayrel's POV:**

Candles burned softly in the corners at the near end of the room, halos of pale golden light flickering around the flames. It was a poor light compared to that cast by the oil lamps found in most of the other rooms of the palace, but anything stronger than candlelight made my head ache painfully. The rest of the room was sunk in shadow; here, this deep into the castle, there were no windows to the outdoors. It was dim and quiet, kept comfortably warm by the heat from the kitchens below. The furniture was sparse, consisting of a large bed tucked away in the corner, a small table and washstand, and the stuffed armchair that I sat in now. The priests and the Queen had protested violently when I had asked for this room, trying to press a royal apartment on me instead, but I had held out adamantly. Now I was glad that I had: the tower rooms were too open to the night, and isolated from the rest of the palace besides. The room I had taken might have been far from grand, but it was in the heart of the palace. Secure.

Safe.

I rested my chin on my knees and stared broodingly into the flame of the nearest candle. Overtired and still shaken from my encounter with the dragoon earlier that night, I couldn't bring myself to sleep just yet, though my muscles ached and my eyes felt as though they were packed with sand. Each time that my eyes began to shut a whirlwind of images descended on my mind's eye, battering me with memories of floating pinnacles and obscuring shadows, the glint of moonlight on steel as the blade sliced through the darkness toward my throat…

With a start I jerked myself from my stupor, banging my elbow on the edge of the table as I did so. Hissing, I cradled it against my body, shooting the table dark looks as I rubbed the joint, settling myself back into the chair comfortably, and staring resolutely at the candle once more. After a moment, however, I could feel my eyelids beginning to droop again, as though drawn down by some irresistible weight.

I'd lost tonight on more than one front. When at last I'd returned to the palace, I had discovered the girl Mariko missing, along with the dread knight who'd been assigned to guard her. The two courtiers who had been summoned to the Queen to give their account of the jade dragoon's death had disappeared as well, without seeking an audience. And since someone had dismissed most of the guards, no one had been able to give a decent description of where or when any of them might have gone. It was humiliating to realize just how thoroughly I had been outsmarted; the whole fight, as dangerous as it had been, had been nothing more than a distraction while the dragoons who followed him had slipped into the palace and made off with my spirit bearer.

'_That stupid…slimy…urgh'_

I had just begun to nod off again when there came a knock at the door, hesitant and tentative sounding as though the caller was afraid to disturb me. When I didn't answer the latch lifted and the door inched its way open. Light streamed in from the hallway in a narrow beam, illuminating my father's head as he peered in, blinking and straining furiously to see in the semi-dark. Realizing that I was still awake, he slipped in, shutting the door softly behind him.

"You should be resting."

I laughed sarcastically as he came over. "You think so? Fine. I'll get right on it." I rubbed my eyes. "How's mother doing?"

Father sat down on the end of my bed. "She's still looking for Dart," he replied, his mouth twisting slightly with distaste as he spoke the name. "Something passed by an hour or so before you came back, but the signature was too faint for her to tell. If it was him, then he was making sure to stay well away from the city."

"Which way was he headed?"

"Somewhere off to the west. Beyond that, it's anyone's guess." Father reached up and loosened the silk scarf he wore tied about his neck, unpinning a large opal brooch from the knot and slipping it into his pocket. No matter what the occasion, he always seemed dressed ready for the courts; even now, in the small hours of the morning he smelled faintly of mint, and his fine clothes were as prim as though they were freshly pressed. "Your mother's still worried, but I doubt that he'll be back tonight. But… Ayrel, we need to do something about this."

I snorted. "Yeah. Like mount the bastard's head on the wall. But how am I going to manage that? He's not going to be so easy to corner from now on; he showed that tonight. He outsmarted me, Father." I grimaced, the words acid on my tongue. "He would have had me if I hadn't taken the risk and made the jump from that valley. As it was, I'm amazed that I was able to do that. I've never had to try so hard to do anything in my entire life."

Father fiddled with one of his rings, thinking. "Ayrel, how strong do you think you are?"

"What?" The question caught me off guard.

"Between you and Dart, who has more power?"

"Dart doesn't have any magic on his own. He gets it all from that dragon."

"Then between you and Ragnarok?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but then hesitated. A day ago, I would have answered the question without hesitation, but now…for the first time, I was becoming aware of the limits of my powers. I had never really paid much attention to how much I had to extend my self to work a spell, but after tonight I could feel it like a barrier on the horizon, as solid and impenetrable as a mountain. And Ragnarok… I shook my head, trying to weigh the two of us up realistically. "I…"

"Dart wields the blade, and Ragnarok gives him his power," Father mused. "Plus, from what your mother says, they've been working this way for hundreds of years. It's a very dangerous combination. But if you had fought him on the plains, without being lured into the valley, do you think you could have won?"

I glared at him. "Of course I could have! The only reason I lost was because he trapped me."

Father got to his feet, running his hand through his hair. "Let me see if I understand this, then. Between you and the dragon, you don't know who has more power, but you're sure that you could beat him on even footing."

"Ragnarok's powerful, but the only way he can use it is through the spirit. Dart's only human, so he shouldn't be able to channel it when he's in his normal form." I leaned forward in the chair, wondering where he was going with this.

"Correct. But he did beat you by finding a way to curb your power." He paced the length of the room, keeping his back to me. When he finally turned around, he was almost lost in the shadows at the far end of the room. "Well, I think that the answer should be obvious. He trapped you. Now you need to return the favor."

"Oh." I slumped back into the chair, disappointed. "You've been talking to mother, haven't you? I thought it through once before. I couldn't see any way to do it."

"Really." Father came back into the circle of candlelight, looking almost amused. "You must not have thought it through well enough, then. No one's so invulnerable that they can't be caught or cornered, Ayrel. It's just a matter of figuring out how to do it."

I looked hard at him. "Do you know how?"

"I may." He was smirking openly now, the way he did when he spoke of the politics happening in court. "Would you be up to some traveling once you've rested yourself some more? There're some papers that I'll need from the temple archives in Bale before I can say anything more for sure."

"What're you thinking, Father?" I asked suspiciously. "And what do you need from Bale?"

His smirk, if possible, became even wider. "I'll tell you in the morning. For now, you get some sleep. I'll go and talk things over with your mother before we do anything for sure. Trust me, Ayrel. I think I may have just found a way to hit him on his weak flank."

"His weak flank?" I sat bolt upright. "What do you mean?"

"You know as well as I do, Ayrel. He may not have any strings for us to pull, but his dragoons do. If we can find some way to catch a hold on them, well then…" Picking up a candle from the table, he blew it out.

"Dart's as good as ours."

**Mariko's POV:**

The first fingers of dawn had only just begun to touch the horizon when we rode out into the grey half-light, traveling in single file as we rode slowly across the scrubby fields surrounding the Anlade's estate. A light wind was blowing out of the hills to the north, carrying the scent of dry bracken and sun-baked earth as the pinkish light slowly inched its way across the deep sky, gradually strengthening as the night receded until only the Moon remained, stolidly refusing to fade with the stars. Our shadows appeared to march implacably beside us, gargantuan and distorted as they rippled over the broken ground. Now and then a bird would call out stridently from its place of concealment, unwilling to venture out just yet into the grey morning. Not for the first time since awaking, I wished I were somewhere like that bird- holed up comfortably, safe and warm. But instead here I was, trying my best not to slip into a doze as my horse plodded along docilely behind Amaya's, his gait swaying me slightly back and forth in the hard leather saddle.

For the most part, the others seemed little better off than I. Zion slouched over miserably in his saddle, his eyes half-closed and unfocused as he held the reins loosely in one hand. I strongly suspected that he actually had managed to slip into a doze, or something close to it. Whenever his horse stumbled or deviated from the track he would snap upright with a start, catching the animal sharply in the mouth with his reins before slouching over again without so much as a mumble. Cai, who was leading two spare mounts along behind his own at the end of two long tethers, seemed slightly better off, though his eyes were shadowed and his golden blond hair in disarray. He rode with Solana at his side, though neither of them spoke a word. The folds of her hood hid Solana's face and she sat up straight, the butt of her trident jammed into the flat of her stirrup next to her toe like a flagstaff. Even Kaelin and Amaya riding ahead of me looked tired; their backs slouched slightly in their saddles as their bodies moved loosely with the motion of their horses' gate.

Only the one who had called himself Ry seemed truly awake. He rode up and down the line impatiently; his face unshaven and his eyes sunk deep into the shadows of his face. Vaguely, I wondered if he had even slept at all; if he had, it seemed to have done him little good. Even so he rode alertly, ranging sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, keeping a tight rein on the big grey charger Cai had loaned him. Though we hadn't yet left the grounds of the estate the animal's hide was already soaked with sweat, and it steamed slightly in the cool air as it danced on and off of the path anxiously. It had thrown a fit when the man had first swung into the saddle in the courtyard, rearing and screaming shrilly until it seemed certain that it must wake the sleeping stable boys. But if it had none had come to investigate, and Ry sat through the fit grimly, struggling with the horse until at last it stood still, eyes rolling wildly and nostrils flaring. Since then it had remained manageable, though it startled easily and pranced more than walked.

I lowered my eyes as he rode past, though I still watched him from the corners. Personally, I couldn't say that I blamed the horse for acting so. There was something odd about the air he carried around him, though it was a far cry from the oppressive weight that had always surrounded the Moon Child. Neither was it like that of the dragoon spirits, though there was some similarity. It was hazy, indistinct: almost as though some secondary force was muffling it. For the most part, it just felt… feral. Like a wolf, watching a herd quietly from the undergrowth.

I shivered. It wasn't bad or evil as such but still… it was unsettling.

"How long do you think we have?" Kaelin's voice wondered from up ahead.

My horse stopped. I looked up, and saw that the others had as well; we'd reached the northernmost gate of the estate. Miles of straight stone wall stretched off to either side, cutting a neat line through the landscape, cleanly dividing the scraggly field from the cracked and near-barren wasteland. The land broke up into low hills a few miles distant, flat-topped and ragged, dotted with finger-like pinnacles that reached imploringly toward the deep blue sky.

At the back of the line, Cai swung out of his saddle and handed the tether lines to Solana before leading his own horse forward to unlatch the gate. "I don't know. It depends on what divisions of the guard have been mobilized. Most likely the temple guardsmen will have been sent out in addition to the palace's Mounted Guards, so we're going to have to move quickly if we're going to keep ahead of them. They're probably already out there, so our only advantage is going to be the fact that it'll be difficult for them to cover the landscape completely before we're past. If we do happen to run into a group though, we're going to have to stamp them out before we move on. All that it'll take is one messenger to set the whole lot of them on our tail."

"Don't hesitate to use your spirits." Ry added, urging his horse forward toward the gate. "They already know about them, so there's no need for any pretence. I shouldn't have to say this, but aim to kill. If you can't do that, then at least make sure that they won't be able to run off to alert any other groups."

Next to me Zion exchanged glances with Kaelin, who had been watching Ry closely. She nodded, and pulled her horse in closer to his as Ry trotted forward through the gate. "He still looks ready to bite someone's head off," Zion muttered. "Are you sure he's calmed down at all?"

"I doubt it," she replied. They spoke in low voices, though neither of them seemed aware that I could overhear what they were saying. "He seems to be keeping himself under control, though, so I don't think that we have anything to worry about." She looked up suddenly, catching my eyes before I could look away. I flushed slightly, realizing that I had been caught. Kaelin, however, only shrugged before turning back to Zion. "Anyway, you go on ahead. I think I'll hang around back here with Mariko for a while."

She hung back while the others passed on ahead, though when Amaya started to ride past, she stuck out her arm to stop her. "You too, if you don't mind. You were listening just as much as she was, so you may as well join in."

Amaya, to her credit, actually managed to look a tad guilty. Pulling her horse up beside mine, the three of us passed through the gate, taking up the rear as Cai remounted and hurried ahead to join Solana. Behind Kaelin's back, I exchanged glances with Amaya, wondering what exactly the other woman had to say to us.

If Kaelin had noticed our exchange, she didn't seem to care. As we moved into a trot she sat back slightly in her saddle, holding the reins tightly in one hand. "Have you ever used a weapon before, Mariko?"

I shook my head no. Fighting men had come to stay at our inn in Seles dozens of times, but even so I had rarely even touched such a thing.

Kaelin bit her lip. "We'll have to find you something, then. Can you help her with that, Amaya?"

"I daresay I can."

Kaelin reached up her horse's neck, smoothing the short fur. "Great." Then she paused, her manner changing. "Amaya, can I ask you something?" she asked quietly, not looking up.

Amaya nodded, slightly surprised. "What do you want to know?"

"Ry. Do you know how long the temples have been after him now?"

I looked over sharply at Amaya, but her gaze gave nothing away. The temples were after him? It made sense, I supposed, considering it seemed that he had the remaining spirits, but still…

"How long? I'm not sure. Years, yes? Beyond that…" she shook her head. "We were all required to commit his description to memory in the honor guard, with orders to kill on sight if we were ever to face him. The Lady Asalla was very… emphatic about that." She shook her head at the recollection. "Beyond that, I know very little about him. Dangerous." She shook her head. "Very dangerous."

"But you don't know how long?"

Amaya shrugged. "As I said, years. Before I had entered the ranks in the very least. I can't say much more than that."

"I see." Kaelin looked up again. "So what do _you_ think of him, then? You guys didn't exactly get off on the right foot, I gather."

"Not by anyone's standards." Amaya lurched forward slightly as her horse stumbled, steadying herself with one hand on the pommel of the saddle. "But I suppose that his reaction was understandable, if he hates dread knights half as much as I think."

Kaelin shook her head. "He had a rough night, from what I can gather. There must have been…something bad to get him fired up like that. Ry's not a bad guy, but he can really snap sometimes. But," she added, a little guiltily, "he's kept all of us alive and safe so far, and that was no small task. He knows what he's doing, whatever his attitude."

I rode quietly, unable to contribute to the conversation. _'You want us to trust him,'_ I thought to myself. Well, given last night's impression, that was more than I would have afforded him at the first. But why had she first asked Amaya about the temple records on him? She hadn't seemed surprised in the least at the answer, but…

The sun inched slowly up the horizon, taking the last of the chill from the air and replacing it with a warm, dusky still that spoke promises of another hot autumn day. Dust trailing in our wake, we continued on through the hills in a loose knot, picking up our pace still more. I moved ahead with the rest, though my thoughts stayed with me, cool and questioning in the morning heat.

The first attack came without warning shortly after midday. Riding through the close, rocky passages of the hills, we found ourselves set upon from both sides as mounted guardsmen spilled out from between gaps in the rock.

At the head of the line Zion wheeled his horse around sharply, shaking his sword free of its scabbard as the first of the guardsmen bore down upon him, lance at the ready. As he struggled with the sheath Cai surged past him, knocking the lance aside with a sweep of his axe and riding his big war horse straight into the oncoming opponent with a roar that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Screaming as they clashed, the two mounts went down hard, raising a cloud of dust that obscured them from view. At my side, Amaya pulled her stave from where it had been hanging at her stirrup, brandishing it with both hands while she controlled her horse with her knees.

Not knowing what else to do, I reached for the belt knife Kaelin had given me earlier and drew it, the short blade looking pitifully small in my hand. Gritting my teeth tightly, I spun my mount around as the second group of guardsmen hit us from behind. The knife was almost laughable in the face of the long spears the soldiers carried, but at least now I didn't feel completely helpless.

Madness. Light burst and flared off to my left, though who it was, I couldn't say. Stabbing and slashing with my little knife, I struggled to stave off a guardsman who had fallen from his horse until a clout from Amaya's staff took care of him properly. Screams filled the air as bursts of light died and faded; now and then I would catch a glimpse of color from the corner of my vision, first green, then red, then blue. But none of the changes lasted long, and no magic was used; in the melee, chances were as good that any spell might damage an ally as easily as an enemy.

Amidst the chaos, I felt someone grab me by the back of my dress and haul me bodily from the saddle, dumping me to the ground as my horse spooked and shied away. For one awful moment the scarred face of a guardsman loomed over me, the broken shaft of a spear held tightly in one hand while the other reached for the crossbow pistol hanging at his belt. My knife had been lost in the fall; desperately, I reached for my dragoon spirit, only to find it cold and unresponsive. Struggling backward on my elbows, I tried to drag myself away as he aimed the little bow, knowing that it was no good.

Grey and black flashed overhead, and red stuff spattered on the ground. The guardsman howled, dropping the crossbow as he groped at the wound that had opened across his chest. I scrambled forward, grabbing the small crossbow from where it had fallen as Ry drew rein next to me, his big grey horse churning the dust with its plate-sized hooves.

"What're you doing down there for?" He jerked sharply on his horse's mouth as it squealed and half-reared, panicked by the commotion. "Don't you know how to stay in a saddle?" He shifted his sword to his rein hand and reached down to me.

For a split second I hesitated. The strange aura that had seemed to surround him before had intensified with the heat of the battle, until the air itself seemed to crackle with the incredible energy that radiated from him. No regular human had ever possessed a power like that. Yet neither was it that of a wingly, nor of a dragoon.

'_What are you?'_

"Hurry!" He snapped, stooping low and grabbing me by the wrist. As he did so, another rider rose up behind him, swinging his spear in a broad arc toward Ry's unprotected back.

Without thinking, I raised the crossbow pistol and squeezed the catch, aiming as best I could. Almost simultaneously Ry flipped his blade up over his back, wrenching his arm around to block at the last instant. The spear bounced off the blade and fell away, clattering to the ground as the soldier slumped from his saddle.

Ry glanced back over his shoulder once before looking back at me and bracing himself, hauling me up to sit behind his saddle. "Nice shot. Now hold on tight, and try not to get in my way!" Satisfied that I was secure, he kicked his horse forward, rushing to help Solana with the guardsman who still harried her.

And almost as suddenly as it had begun, the fight had ended. Bloodied and breathing raggedly, Zion helped a dazed looking Cai over to Solana, who swung down from her saddle with a worried expression on her face. Amaya, mopping sweat from her brow with her sleeve, joined them. Kaelin, who it seemed had spent the better part of the fight in transformation, landed next to us, the armor disappearing in a flash of blue light.

"You look like you're in a better mood," she commented to Ry sourly.

Ry, surprisingly, grinned. The moment the fight had ended the flow of power had ebbed; now, he felt almost like a normal human again. "I guess I just needed some exercise," he told her, wiping his blade on the hem of his coat before sheathing it again. Then he sobered. "What happened to Cai? Did either of you see?"

I shook my head. Kaelin shrugged. "I think he did something to his leg when he tried to mow over that other horse back at the start. One of the guardsmen managed to get him pretty good upside the back of his head with the flat of a spear blade, and he went out cold. Zion and I managed to keep the guardsmen off of him until things were finished though, so he should be okay."

"Mariko?" Ry looked back over his shoulder at me. "Can you use your spirit? You should be able to patch him up without too much trouble."

Nodding, I obliged, sliding somewhat gratefully to the ground and hurrying over to where they had laid Cai out on the stony ground. His eyes were unfocused, but he seemed to be aware, mumbling to himself slightly and trailing his fingers in the dirt. Reaching into the neck of my dress for my spirit, I felt my fingers close around its smooth surface. I closed my eyes, concentrating. The transformation had gone easiest last time while I was touching it too.

Within moments Cai was back on his feet, looking refreshed and hale once more. As my armor shed itself with one final flicker the others began to gather up the mounts again, preparing to leave. Not knowing what else to do, I caught the reins of the horse nearest to me and led it back to Kaelin and Ry, waiting for the others to finish. In short order we were ready once more, though a little worse for wear.

Moving to take the head of the column, Cai shook his head. "Someone's going to have to ride ahead from now on, I think." He said ruefully. "We were lucky this time, but I don't think we want to risk running into another ambush like that again."

"I'll do it." Ry trotted past him, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're going to have to push it from here on out. Chances are if they were able to find us out here, then they know that we're heading to Doneau. Kaelin, you might have to figure out a way to slip us into the city if they decide to post guards at the gates."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Kaelin shrugged. "Worse come to worse, I'll slip in and find a smuggler ship that would be willing to pick the rest you guys up further down the coast." She smiled hugely at Cai and Solana, who, in response, looked wary. "I hope you guys brought some money along. Lots of it. I have a feeling that this could get expensive, and I sure can't afford it."

The sun had long since sunk below the horizon when, travel beaten and weary, we at last reached the outskirts of Doneau. Like Bale, the city consisted of an outer town and an inner town, separated by a low wall that enclosed the old city. I had seen little of either when I had passed through the city before, but I knew enough to know that the gates separating the two were always guarded, though it would be easy enough to slip into the old city. As it was, we were still about a mile from the first of the houses, hidden in the shadows of a low ridge. Kaelin had slipped off a few minutes beforehand to scout for possible routes into the port city. For the moment, at least, the rest of us sat about on the rocky ground, taking advantage of the brief respite.

Amaya sat next to me, rubbing her fingers as she tried to work out the stiffness that had settled into them during the ride. Ry crouched a short distance away at the very edge of the shadow, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he kept watch out over the short stretch of waste that separated us from the city.

"How long do you think it will take her?" Amaya asked quietly, shaking her hands and clenching them into fists.

Ry glanced back at us briefly before looking ahead again, not seeming to want to take his eyes from the city. "Half an hour; maybe an hour at most. She knows what she's doing."

"What will we do if she can't find a way in?"

He shrugged. "Then we keep on riding. If necessary, we can follow the coastline around the edge of the bay and into Mille Seseau."

"But that would take months!" Solana came over to join us, leaving Cai and Zion to tend to the horses. "And do you think that we'd be able to avoid the patrols for that long?"

"The patrols can't cover all of Tiberoa, though they'll certainly try. In any case, I doubt that we'd have to go all the way around the bay. There're a few fishing villages along the country's northern shore; we could probably hire a boat there and slip away with none the wiser." He rocked back onto his heels, then suddenly leaning forward again. "Hello. She's coming back already?"

I looked up. Someone was coming toward us; almost invisible under the buff-colored cloak they worse as they ran crouched over toward us. When she reached the shadows Kaelin threw back her hood, looking none too pleased.

"Someone's coming," She said shortly, before anyone could ask why she had returned so soon.

Zion looked up from the horse he had been tending, one hand automatically going for his sword. "Guardsmen?"

"I don't think so," She disagreed. "He seemed to know I was there, but didn't care in the least when I saw him. Whoever it is, they're wearing a big cloak, but I'd say that they aren't armed."

"Where was he?"

In response, she pointed out over the moonlit barrens. Getting up to my knees, I squinted, trying, like everyone else, to see where she was pointing. Sure enough, a cloaked figure was hurrying across the open ground some distance away, running from outcropping to twisted scrub in an attempt to stay hidden.

Kaelin swore under her breath. "He's following me, see? Though if he's going through all of that trouble trying to stay hidden if he knew that I saw him…"

"He must be hiding from the patrols," Ry finished. "I think you're right, Kaelin. He doesn't seem like he's coming for a fight. Still…" He scratched his chin. "Mariko? You still have that crossbow, right?"

I nodded, reaching to touch the thing where it lay beside me. It was a strange contraption; less than half the size of the proper crossbows I had seen the hunters carry back in Seles, it didn't seem to match them in range or power either. Even so, it was small enough that I could wind and load it easily enough, and after a brief lesson from Cai while we had let the horses catch their breath earlier that afternoon, I at least felt competent enough to be sure that I wasn't about to shoot myself in the foot.

"Good. Keep it close by." Ry got to his feet, coming to stand with his back against the outcropping in the deepest of the shadow. "If he keeps running like that, I imagine that he'll be with us in a minute or two." He crouched down again, resting his chin on his thumbs. "Let's see what he wants."

The stranger continued to sprint haltingly toward us. When he came within earshot, however, he stopped, crouching low on the rocky ground. "Hel-lo? I can see you, so you guys don't need to hide back in the shadows like that. Most of the patrols have been ordered to stay near the city gates, so we don't have to worry about them this far out. I'm coming closer, if you don't mind. And I'm unarmed," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Catching Ry's eye, I lifted the little crossbow questioningly as the man scurried closer. Ry shook his head, but didn't motion for me to put it away just yet. Hoping that our visitor was being honest, I lowered the weapon.

"Whew, that's a long way to run in the dark," the cloaked man gasped, sitting down hard the moment he reached the shadows. "It was hard enough to find you as it was. Once the Temple seized the ports, I started to worry that you'd skip this place entirely."

"You knew we were coming here?" Cai rumbled, surprised. "How? Who the hell are you?"

"I had a hunch," the man replied, ignoring Cai's second question, "that the lot of you would be wanting to leave the country in short order. I wasn't sure, mind you, but my hunches usually seem to turn out right. In any case," he added, pushing back his hood, "I think you'll find that I could be of some use to you."

"Shane!" Kaelin lurched to her feet, staring at him incredulously. "Where the… how… what in Soa's name are _you_ doing here?"

He looked up at her calmly, leaning back on his hands. "I thought that would be obvious, Kaelin. I've come to save the lot of you."

"You know him?" Solana asked, surprised.

"He's my _brother_," she growled through gritted teeth. "Mariko, don't put that thing away just yet, I might find a use for it yet. Shane, how…"

"I visited Lyke a few weeks back and had a little chat with him about the way he treated you. Then, when I stopped over in Fueno, I recognized your distinguished friend here from the description Lyke had given me. That, coupled with the stories of dragoons flying around left right and center… well, you can only hit someone so many times over the head with something before they start to catch on. Nice job on my brother, by the way." He added to Ry, who didn't seem to know whether to be annoyed or impressed. "I think you hold the honor of being the first person to scare him shi-"

"So you figured out what was going on," Zion interrupted loudly, "just from a handful of rumors and a rough description?" He shook his head, and then looked at Kaelin. "Is this guy for real?"

"Unfortunately, yes." She grumbled. "He acts like an idiot, but he can spot connections between things so quickly it makes my head spin. Let me guess. You're here to offer us a lift out of this mess, right?"

He nodded. "I anchored the _Blue Wind_ up the coast a little ways, away from the patrols just before they closed the port. The choice is yours, but…" He looked out at the waste meaningfully.

Kaelin ground her teeth. "And I suppose that you'll swear that you're going to take us straight to Furni flat out with no underhanded schemes, no attempts to betray us, and at absolutely no profit to your self, am I right?"

"On Soa, my life, and everything that I hold dear."

"I was afraid of that," she said grimly. "Well, everybody? Are we going to take him up on his offer?"

"Can we trust him?" Amaya asked slowly. "I seem to remember delivering you to the temple holding cells the last time you made a deal with a family member."

"If he says we can trust him, we can trust him," she grumbled. "He's so honest it makes my teeth hurt. I don't think he's ever broken his word once in his entire life."

I looked from one to the other, uncomprehending. If Shane could be trusted, then why did she sound so annoyed about it?

She must have seen the confusion on my face, because her glower became even deeper. "I _hate_ depending on family." Shooting one more glare at her brother, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well Ry? It's your call."

Ry stared at her, then shook his head slowly. "I honestly don't see that we have much of a choice in the matter." Reaching down, he grabbed Shane by the arm, pulling him to his feet. "All right, Shane. Show us your ship. But-" he added, "If you try anything- _anything_- like your brother did…"

"Yes, I know. Lots of pain and more of the same." He shivered. "Now do you mind if we get a move on? I absolutely _abhor_ Tiberoa at night."

**Ayrel's POV:**

Morning light filtered through the curtains, filling mother's tower with the sort of airy breathlessness that sometimes accompanies the early hours of the day. Sea birds wheeled and dove in the sky overhead, riding the breeze that was blowing in off of the ocean. In the city below the towers had just begun to toll the hour, their bells ringing out crisp and clear in the heady morning air. There was an infectious feel to the sound that pushed away worries and replaced them with a light-headed whimsicalness that left me feeling wide-eyed and awake. Which was fortunate, given the matter at hand.

We sat around a small table in the center of the room, pouring over the sheaf of documents that father had had me retrieve from the temples in Bale the day before. A map, held open with a glass bottle at one corner and a lump of rock at the other, was stretched out over the floor at out feet. A stack of books lay jumbled next to it, one or two marked with pieces of string or slips of paper.

"Here's another one, Mathis." Mother handed father another handful of papers, careful not to wrinkle them. "That would make three of them."

Father took the sheets and pushed his chair back from the table. "Zion Damnen, Mariko Ruche, and Kaelin Alphine. The Anlades, if they really are in league with Dart, are relations of the royal houses, so they're more or less untouchable unless we want to complicate things unnecessarily." He tapped the page lightly with one finger, thinking. "It won't be difficult getting a handle on the boy and the part-breed, but the Alphine woman is a different matter entirely. It wouldn't be difficult to force the family to comply, but word would get out. If we're to keep things quiet, we're going to have to find another way."

"Sounds like a lot of trouble," I commented, pushing aside my stack of papers and reaching for one of the books marked with string instead. "Maybe we should just leave them out of it?"

Father shook his head and looked at mother. "You said that they were headed for Furni?"

Mother nodded. The night before, she had hovered about the Doneau port, and had tracked Dart's aura fading out to sea. "They could be headed to another port, but in all likelihood they'll be heading in that direction."

"Which means that sooner or later, they'll come in contact with the rest of the family," he mused. "No, I think our best chance lies in finding some way to subvert a member of that family. If we can manage that much, the rest should fall into place rather easily."

"I still don't understand," I grumbled. "Are you sure that this will work?"

"Positive. Don't worry too much about it Ayrel. Leave the politics to me and help your mother with her research."

"Ancient history, you mean." I corrected him absently. "I don't think that we'll find much to help us in there. And I think you're enjoying yourself too much, father. I'm supposed to be the one who gets all the thrill of taking him down." I stuck my tongue out at him, though I was only half-kidding.

"I wouldn't worry about that too much, Ayrel. I wouldn't _dream_ of taking your fun away from you. But things will go much easier if you let me have my little fun with things first." He pulled another paper across the paper toward him, and then glanced down at the map. "All right. I'll have Commander Mychael dispatch an escort to Seles to retrieve the women while we head to Mille Seseau."

"I still think it's too complicated," I told him dubiously, but mother shook her head.

"Let him be, Ayrel. He has some idea of what he's doing, even if we don't. Besides, you want to face Dart again, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Then trust him. I'm sure things will be clear in time. Ah. Here we are." She slid her book across the table to me, flattening the pages under her fingers. "Whatever your father manages to arrange, it's secondary to this. Do you think you could figure out a way to re-create one of these?"

I took the little book from her. A large, detailed picture of a rather unremarkable staff, topped with a lump of stone, had been scrawled over the top of the page. A short, written description of the item was printed neatly underneath in a neat, precise hand. I scanned through it quickly, then flipped the book over in my hands. "What is this?"

"It's a journal, kept by one of the past kings of Serdio. More importantly, one of Dart's former companions as a dragoon. Those are his notes on an item they recovered from the ruins of the wingly capitol during their journeys." She reached out and flipped the book over again, so that I was once more looking at the illustration. "The same item," she said, "that was used to seal and kill the Divine Dragon."

I dropped my eyes to the description again, reading it through more carefully. An item to seal and contain the powers of dragons. And one of the three items used to seal the Divine Dragon himself in his lair by the ancient winglies, thousands of years past…

Carefully, I set the book back on the table. Seal and kill. Render him powerless.

In spite of myself, I allowed myself a crooked little half smile.

"How appropriate."

* * *

Dun dun dunnn! Evil plots and such fun? Nyar.

.- My, aren't I coherent today? _-slaps self with tuna_


	54. Side Story7

Dart: Umm… Shade?

Shade: What?

Dart: … you _do_ realize that there's a cat on your head, don't you?

Shade: What cat?

Dart: I just said, the one-

Shade: _-gritted teeth- _I said, _what cat?_

Dart: Uhh… never mind.

Ugh. I'm starting to feel like Shane these days. We've just started to introduce our kittens to the wonderful outdoors. Unfortunately, whenever they get afraid, or need to be taken somewhere, their first reaction is to scramble up onto my shoulders and use me as their own personal transport. I don't mind, normally, except that one of them has decided to try to box my ear when I do so. Ehh… but they're so cute!

Sorry to everyone who got confused by my explanation of the sword at the beginning of the last chapter; apparently I wasn't clear enough about it. If you still want an explanation, I suggest you go look at the review left by Jonathon Coultas for last chapter; if you haven't seen it already, he formulated a nice short explanation that's to the point. None of my over-elaborating :P Thank you for that, Jonathon!

* * *

**Side Story 7**

Dorian was a bar tender. His father had been one, and his father's father before him. The pub that he owned had been passed down through the family for generations and had a reputation for being cheap and clean, and if the ale was watered down slightly, its low price and ample availability more than made up the difference to the regular customers. The establishment turned a neat profit a smidgen better than the pricier taverns along the waterfront, and so Dorian had seen no reason not to keep the business in the family when his father had passed on some ten years back. It made for a comfortable life, if one didn't mind the late hours, and as long as there were customers, you never lacked news from the mainland.

It was the customers, Dorian thought, wiping down the scarred counter with a damp rag, that really made the job interesting. Not so much how much they drank or paid (though that was definitely of interest too), but sometimes men came in from Rogue, or from the hot desert tracks in Tiberoia's far west. And once in a while, you might even be lucky enough to spot a _wingly_.

Dorian loved winglies. They were quiet, and tended to keep to themselves, but even still they stood out from the humans around them, marked out from the crowd. It was rare to see a real one nowadays; more often than not their blood had mingled with that of a human, and their hair was more blond than silver or their eyes more brown than red. Still, even these were a refreshing change from the usual group that frequented his tavern. The last time he had seen a wingly had been at least four years previous, and even then it had been but a brief glimpse. For the most part they kept to the mainland, and rarely visited the islands of Illisa bay. Because of this, more often than not they were nothing more than a wistful thought in the back of Dorian's mind, all that remained of a boyhood fascination with the elusive race.

But now… Dorian glanced furtively down the bar toward the couple seated over their drinks at the far end. _Two_ of them in his tavern and neither of them showed any inclination to leave; though they hadn't yet inquired after the price of rooms. The male was a tall fellow, with dark, suntanned skin that made his hair seem even more alarmingly pale by comparison. He was dressed plainly, but his arms were roped with heavy muscle and his shoulders were touched with the telltale remains of scar tissue. A fighter, Dorian surmised, and a rough one at that. He was also on his second tankard of ale, though he seemed to have forgotten about it for the moment, only sipping from it now and then. His focus was on the pale woman seated at his side, eyes intent as he listened to her speak.

The woman, for her part, could hardly have provided a greater contrast to her companion. Pale and slim, her almond shaped eyes and angular features were exotic and touched with an unfamiliar beauty, and though she was shorter than her companion by at least a hand but was nonetheless on the tall side for a woman. She wore a dark silk dress of an unfamiliar cut and she played with the skirt as she talked, pausing now and again to sip from the small glass of brandy that she had ordered. Dorian privately wondered what business such a young woman had drinking such heavy liquor, even if she weren't human, but she seemed to be holding it well enough. Besides, one didn't question paying customers.

Dorian's wife bustled out of the kitchen as a new group of customers came though the door, wiping her hands on her apron and shooting an impatient look over her shoulder at her husband. Automatically he reached under the bar for a fresh set of mugs, pushing the winglies from his mind. '_They might be interesting_', he told himself as he opened the tap and began to fill the mug, _'but there're still other customers to look after.' _Still, he did glance back over his shoulder one last time before carrying the mugs out to the tables. _'Two of them, huh? Who would've thought?'_

For the next ten minutes or so Dorian was kept occupied with the steady flow of work, pouring drinks and collecting coins. As he returned behind the counter to broach a fresh keg he happened to find himself within earshot of the two, who were still talking quietly as they lingered over the last of their cups. Feeling a tad guilty, Dorian found himself listening in as he hunted around for a mallet and knocked a new tap into the bung of the barrel with a few well-practiced movements.

"…Are you sure about this? It could just have been a coincidence, you know."

"Not likely." Out of the corner of his eye, Dorian saw the male wingly swirl the last of his ale in the bottom of his mug, staring at the dwindling supply of amber liquid remorsefully. "There were only two that he didn't recover in the first place. Everyone we've talked to have said that there were at least three involved in the fight. Which means-"

"He had to have been involved somehow." The woman pushed her drink away. "Do you want the rest of that? The flavor's a bit off for some reason. So, assuming it was him, what do we do now?"

The male shrugged, polishing off the last of his own drink setting the empty glass off to one side. "Ask around at the inns, find out if anyone's seen him. Check in with the Harbor Master and find out what ships left taking what passengers. If all else fails, we'll just find out where Ayrel is and hang around to wait for a bit. Whatever he's up to, he never goes too long without taking a crack at her. Either way, we should find out something of what's going on sooner or later." He reached for the cup of brandy, sipped it, and made a face. "You're right, this does taste a bit funny." Then he raised his voice. "Hey, Barkeep!"

Dorian jumped, almost dropping his mallet in surprise. Recovering himself quickly, he hurried over, wiping his hands on his apron. "Yes, sir?" He asked, though he already knew the complaint was coming.

Surprisingly, though, the wingly didn't mention it. "You rent rooms here, don't you?"

Dorian nodded, his heart rising a little. They were inquiring?

"Oh good. Maybe you can help us then. We're looking for a friend of ours who passed through town a few weeks back. You wouldn't have seen him, would you? Bit shorter than me, blond, probably wearing a big oilskin coat. He'd have been armed with a sword, too."

Dorian shifted his weight uncomfortably, trying to think. Both of them were watching him now, their scarlet eyes intent. It was really quite nerve racking, Dorian thought as he cleared his throat to speak.

"Blond? Armed with a sword…" He shook his head apologetically. I'm sorry sir, but we see all sorts in here. The sword narrows it down a bit, but even then…" He spread his hands helplessly. "Is there any way that you can be more specific?"

They thought about it for a moment. Then the woman spoke up. "His hair's usually a real mess. He usually just uses a bandana to keep it out of the way. There's a bit of a scar on his left cheek too, isn't there?" She looked at her friend for confirmation. "Yes. It's just small, but it's still pretty noticeable."

Something in the new detail tugged at Dorian's memory. He frowned, not wanting to rush the memory. "Is there anything else?"

"He's got blue eyes," the male replied, a bit lamely, as though he doubted it would help much. "Very clear, blue eyes."

_The man sat on the stool with his head cradled lightly in his hands. Dorian set a mug of mulled wine on the bar before him, swiping idly at a stick patch on the countertop with his rag. "It's getting late, friend. You should look into finding a room for the night before they all fill up; otherwise you'll have nowhere to sleep but the streets. Rooms are scarce this time of year."_

_The man accepted the cup and sipped the steaming wine without lifting his head. "That's okay. I don't feel all that much like sleeping anyway." He took another drink, longer this time. "Are there any taverns around here open straight through the night?"_

"_Down on the waterfront, maybe," Dorian suggested a bit dubiously, "but if you plan on drinking heavy, I'd avoid them. Cutpurses tend to lurk by the doorways, and if you're not careful, some of the bolder ones wouldn't object to braining you with a cudgel before they rob you."_

_He chuckled and lifted his head slightly. His face was weary and sunk in shadows cast by the honey-gold lamplight, but his eyes were alert, showing none of the fatigue he must have felt. "I'll keep that in mind, mister. I think I'll head down there all the same, though. I need to find a ship willing to take passengers to Doneau within the next day or so, otherwise I'll be in trouble with my employer."_

Dorian hesitated. His memory for faces wasn't the best, but he was fairly sure that that man fit the wingly's description. He cleared his throat, acutely aware that their eyes were still on him. "Well… there was one man in here a few weeks ago. I'm not sure where he was staying, but he mentioned that he was looking for a ship to take him to Doneau."

The man exchanged glances with the woman. "The timing would be right," he said, a bit needlessly. "Was there anyone else with him?"

Dorian shook his head. "Not at the time, but it sounded as though he was looking for a ship that would take more than one passenger.

"That explains a couple of things," the man muttered, half to himself. Draining what was left of the brandy, he set the glass back on the countertop and pushed it toward Dorian. "I guess we got lucky right off, then." He dropped a few coins on the counter and got to his feet, picking up his cloak from where he had draped it across the back of the stool. "I'd say we're about done here then, huh?"

The woman nodded, getting to her feet as well. "Thank you, Sir. You've been of great help to us."

Dorian watched them go, his eyes dogging their every footstep until they pushed open the heavy oak door and disappeared into the darkness outside. As the door swung shut, however, he exhaled sharply, wondering when it was that he had begun to hold his breath.

Later, as he began to usher the last of the late-night customers from the taproom while his wife cleaned the mess from the tables and floor, Dorian reflected on the conversation he had had with the pair. For all of his dreaming, all of the tales he'd heard, the winglies had seemed surprisingly normal. No teleporting. No mystical, mysterious words. For all of how they acted, they could have been any human couple sitting enjoying a night at the bar, drinking beer and _brandy_ for Soa's sake. He shook his head, baffled by it all. And yet, at the same time…

So absorbed in his thoughts did he become that he hardly noticed his own wife waving her fingers in his face until she jabbed him in the nose.

"Look, there you go again, off with your head in the clouds. I was askin' you a question, Dorian. Don't you go ignoring me, now. Were those winglies I saw in here earlier?"

Jostled out of his thoughts, Dorian blinked at her owlishly and repeated, "Winglies? Yes, I suppose they were at that."

"Ah, that would explain it then." Dorian's wife spoke with a particular accent, a thick brogue that reminded him of lonely hilltops and mountain peaks. "They do strange things to your head, so I've heard. Fuddle your wits if you're around them too long." She shook her head, still muttering to herself. "Strange creatures, them winglies."

Normally Dorian would have ignored her; she knew dozens of old wives' tales, and would recite them accordingly whenever she had the opportunity. Now though, he could only stop and wonder, remembering the intensity of their crimson eyes.

"Aye, strange creatures," he repeated softly.

o

_They were back._

_Slone half-fell out of his cot, the damp, sweat-stinking sheets still twisted around his naked body. Kicking them free, he lurched to his feet and staggered back a step or two, eyes wild in the absolute darkness of his room. Fumbling for a match, he found one, struck it and touched the burning head to the stump of a candle, melted to the bedside table in a pool of its own congealed wax .The flame stuttered, then caught the blackened wick, burning low but still giving off a feeble light. With shaking hands, Slone blew out the match and let it fall smoking to the floor where he crushed it under his bare heel. It stung, even through the thick calluses, but he only gritted his teeth, welcoming the pain. Pain meant that he was awake, awake in his own reality. The creatures, those places did not exist here; it was all nothing more than a memory._

_An incredibly vivid, haunting memory…_

_Slone closed his eyes tightly and grasped his head, trying to chase away the memories. But the after-images painted themselves on the insides of his eyelids like the playthings of some perverted artist, and he opened them again almost immediately, knowing he would find no rest that way. Reaching for a heavy clay jar on the far side of the table, he picked it up and shook it, hearing the thick liquid slosh about inside. Knocking out the stopper that sealed it shut, he lifted it to his lips and drank _

_The mixture was bitter and tasted as foul as it smelled, but Slone gulped it down greedily. The healer from whom he had bought it had warned him against taking more than a few sips a day, but since the dreams had begun to return he found that it took greater and greater amounts to hold them at bay. Even now, as he drained the last of the vicious-tasting drug from the jar, he knew it was a useless effort. Soon it wouldn't matter how much of the stuff he took; the dreams would be back a strongly before, and he would begin to slip._

_Setting the jar on the floor, he slowly sat back down on the edge of the cot, ignoring the acrid scent of stale sweat that hung in a heavy miasma over the stained sheets. The whole room stank; it was a windowless hole beneath his lord's stables, away from the quarters of the servants or the other guards. He held the only key, so he had no fears of any of the stable hands stumbling accidentally into the mess. Not that there was much of anything for an unwanted visitor to find; the room's furnishings were as spartan as his belongings, consisting of a cot, a table, and a small chest he kept pushed back into a corner. His weapon, a short spear topped with a curved, two-foot blade was propped up beside it, while the steel-plated jacket and conical helm that served as both his armor and livery lay piled in a jumbled heap at its base. No, no danger in that. The only evidence to his impending madness had been the drug in the jar, and now that too was gone, nothing more than an unpleasant aftertaste on his tongue._

_Madness. Was that really what these dreams were driving him to? Sitting with his head in his hands, he watched the flame dance low on the candle stub out of the corner of his eye. Before the drugs, it had been difficult to keep his true memories separate from those of the dreams. He found himself thinking of places with strange names he had never heard of, looking over his shoulder for an enemy he knew could not exist. But what disturbed him the most were the memories of… of _lording_. He could find no other way to describe it; knowing that others were subject to his whims, that _he_ would bring swift death from the skies to those who opposed him…Lording was definitely the word. And yet, in the darkest dreams there was one who stood over even he, commanding his obedience even as he struggled to repress him; to control his genius like a dog on a leash…_

_Slone exhaled sharply and forced himself to sit upright, recognizing the danger signs. Even now, the memories stalked him, looking for a way to merge with his own. Dawn was still hours away, yet he shrank back from the prospect of sleep. He briefly considered hunting down the apothecary again and purchasing another jar of the medicine, but he dismissed the idea almost immediately. The drug would do more harm than good soon, and after purchasing the last jar he doubted that he had the coin to pay the apothecary again. Yet each time he closed his eyes, each time the foreign memories began to intrude, his options became slimmer and slimmer…_

_There was still one option open to him, however. Slone hunched over again as the idea occurred to him, staring at the candle without actually seeing. He had heard that the Moon Child had the power to cure, though few people could afford the offering many of the priests and temple attendants insisted they pay before they would allow them to come close enough to her to plead for treatment. The temples of Mille Seasu were corrupt in many aspects, he knew, but the Child herself was still pure. If he could see her…_

_Abruptly he rose from the cot, retrieving his clothing from where he had tossed it over the trunk before he had went to bed some hours earlier. Pulling on his trousers hurriedly, he groped about for his shirt while his mind worked at a feverish pace, trying to make sense of this new idea. There was no guarantees that the child would even be in the city, and it was almost a certainty that even if she were, no self-respecting priest would allow him to pay his respects to her at this hour of the night, but even so… _

_Grabbing his cloak, he left his room, locking the door tightly behind him and went upstairs into the darkened stable. Still turning his options over in his mind, he led his own mount out of its stall and slipped on its bridle before leading it out into the night. Anxious to leave, he climbed on bareback and left the courtyard at a walk, looking back over his shoulder from time to time at the impressive manor on the hill behind him. It was only a short ride to Furni, and even bareback, Slone was confidant that he could elude any enterprising thief who might be lurking beside the road along the way. He was not scheduled for escort until later that morning in any case, so he had time enough to make the trip without worry of being discovered. _

_As far as the offering to be made… he glanced back over his shoulder again, admiring how the manor bathed itself in the moonlight. There were all sorts of offerings to be proposed, if only he could find out for sure what it was that they wanted. Then again, when one was captain of the guard for Nicolas Myr Alphine, all sorts of doors could be opened._

_You just had to know the price. _

* * *

.- Honestly, I can't keep track of time any more. Someone needs to glue a little calender to my head or something. In other news?

SLONE XD I've had to wait too darn long to get him into this story. Keep an eye on him; if it wasn't horribly obvious already, he's going to become a rather pivitol part of the story over the next few chapters. He won't actually have a real POV segment- any part of the story dealing with him is going to be in more or less the same format as above- third person, in italics.

Thank you to The Sharra, who made a suggestion about a year ago regarding reincarnations; this became a very big part of his character. I owe you one :P


	55. Game

_-A funeral pyre mounted on a raft drifts slowly downriver, spinning slightly in the lazy current. Atop piles of used floppy disks and drained batteries sits a battered laptop, its low-quality screen open and flickering as it makes its final journey downriver into the sunset…_

Dart: Is this really necessary?

Shade: _-Belts him over the head-_ Yes! Now silent, and observe its passing!

Garren: … uh, I hate to say it, but he's got a point. That computer still works perfectly well, and besides, do you really think the full barbarian burial was really… practical?

Shade: It's warranted, believe me. And besides, look! I found a new one! And it has _speakers_! _-Giggles insanely-_ And it's all shiny and pretty and…tee hee! _-Pokes a button-_

**+OUT OF CHEESE ERROR. REDO FROM START.**

All: …

_-SPLASH-_

Dart: _-turns to watch Shade swimming downriver, desperately trying to catch up with the funeral pyre- _Hmmm. I suppose we shouldn't have lit the raft on fire before we shoved it off, huh?

Garren: Psh. Her fault for insisting.

Okay, maybe the situation isn't _quite_ that off-color, but poor I've definitely found some of the drawbacks of the whole new laptop shabam. My old laptop, the wonderful little thing that it is, ran off of windows 95 and a hard drive that on occasion as able to be overloaded almost exclusively by _word documents._ However, excepting the brief episode where the old screen became disconnected and needed replacement, it never crashed, hardly ever froze, and only rarely showed me the blue screen of death. And while my new laptop is a definite improvement- it's probably about eight years younger, if that says anything- in terms of technology, it also has locked up and frozen on me three or four times with the first couple hours of use. It also goes into 'hibernate' at intervals, and be darned if I can get it back to normal without a fight. Heheh… doesn't say much about my skill with computers now, does it? XD However, now I can download precious episodes of Bleach. Shade be a happy girl.

**IMPORTANT: In other news, has once again tweaked their rich-text editor, which has as a result once again screwed over the formatting I've been using for the fic. Both Dart and Ark's thughts are enclosed in ( ). I feel anger.**

Anyway, on to the Q&A:

**Queens of the Rose Wings:** They're winglies all right, but Nova has spent her whole life pretty much in Ulara exclusively, and has only a vague idea of how things are really positioned in the outside world. And as for Garren, well… we just won't talk about Garren. He has no sense of direction, and would have trouble finding his way out of a wet paper bag. Besides, Endiness is a big place, and it's difficult to predict where either Dart or Ayrel would be at any given time.

**The Orange Cow:** XD The duck man and I have a lot in common, some days. I'm a big Terry Prachett fan, as you could probably tell from the blurb above. Anyway, Nova did mention her mother, I believe, but her momma's not Charle. I don't think her mother's actually made an appearance as of yet, now that I think of it. Hmm. I'll have to correct that at some point.

**Shadow Rave:** Tygris is taking a break back in Ulara. Poor Nova. Now she has to teleport Garren's butt all over Endiness again. XD

A/N: Sorry if any of the information in the first section of this chapter is inaccurate; I'm going by what I remember was said of the original dragon campaign during the game, so I'm probably wrong on some accounts. In either case, this was my take on what I got out of it, and I rather like how it turned out.

* * *

_The wind screamed through the high passes, shrieking and wailing as it blasted over bare rock and ice, picking up what little snow there was to be found and tossing it into the empty air. Mountain peaks, gray and jagged, protruded here and there from the swirling wall of cloud surrounding them, their dull faces ominous and threatening in the yellow-brown light. The sun was nowhere to be seen; here, amidst this bank of cloud, there were no landmarks, nothing to aid navigation. Only the gusting wind and shifting cloud, masking the familiar and fogging the senses in an ever changing show of shadow and vapor. _

_Through the midst of this phantasmagoria Flanvel drifted aimlessly, utterly at the mercy of the blasting winds. She listed slightly to one side; a section of her pitted shell hanging loose from her underbelly, scraping against the lower peaks from time to time as she passed above. So deep was the wound that it seemed she must split in two; through the rents could be seen glimpses of her inner decks, a honeycomb of desolate and abandoned passages and yawning, empty galleries. The dragoons had done their work well; with their accursed dragons to support them they had routed the tower of nearly all of its crew before a retreat could be ordered. Thrust through it all, pinning the loose shell to the rest of the ship was the Arrow, the final assault of the humans launched from their earthbound battery. The human engineers had done their work well; the Arrow had pierced through the heart of the tower, destroying the central controls and completely severing the steering mechanisms. Now Flanvel was lame, a ruin of former glory adrift in the mountains of Gloriano, sinking inexorably lower with each passing hour. Lower. Always lower._

_She was his brainchild. At her helm he had set himself apart from those fools who had called themselves worthy, shown them all how the true right hand ought to command. Fueled by his magics she had ruled the skies at his whim, striking terror into the hearts of those infantile creatures who had made their bid for freedom… and failed. With her as his fortress, he could have torn the world apart to its foundations._

_Or so it had seemed._

_He felt her pain. Every split, every fracture, every groan of tortured material thrilled through his brain and set his nerves afire. She was dying. Flanvel, his greatest creation, named for the chariot of the gods, had been humbled at last by those whom she had pursued for so long. Such bitter insult went beyond mere humiliation; not only was it absurd, it was unimaginable. And yet, it had come to this._

_It was supposed to have been the final downfall of the so-called Liberation Army of Humans. Flanvel was to be the vanguard, the spearhead of the assault on the graceless, ugly habitation the humans had named Vellweb and dared to call their capitol. The hammer of wrath, sent by Melbu Frahma himself to crush the rebellion once and for all. But when Flanvel had sunk through the clouds to confront the fortress at last she had found herself alone, with naught with whom to share the skies save for the dragons and their masters. Even then, he had not feared for her. She had faced the dragoons before and come through unscathed. He had not expected the raw strength of the dragons themselves providing the dragoons with the literal opening they had needed to breech Flanvel's hull. Not expected the loss of the crew._

_Not expected the Arrow._

_It had been days since, but without the crew there was no way to repair her. She would die where she would fall, and he with her. For in her creation he had poured too much of himself into her, bound his blood to her steel with the very magic that coursed through his veins. Even if he were to survive the crash, too much of himself would die with her to make living an option. It was a grim thought, but he had never been one to ignore the reality of the situation. Resigned to this, he turned his thoughts back to the question that had plagued him for days now, though he thought he knew the answer. Why had the wingly fleet failed to appear at Vellweb? With the full might of the empire it would have been a crushing victory, with little loss or risk at the hands of the winglies. There should have been no reason for their absence. None at all. Except that there had been whispers. Whispers that the dictator himself feared his powers, feared that one day his strong right hand would grow weary of playing the servant and rise against him. Certainly, it was true that Frahma had devised a way to limit his power, providing a safeguard should that day ever come to pass. And yet… had he thought it enough?_

_Even so… he tore his eyes from the view port to look around at the bridge where he stood, his thin, sallow face growing grim. Frahma's power, it was rumored, knew no bounds. But neither, it seemed, did his paranoia. In years past he had feared Frahma; now he only felt contempt. To accuse him of conspiracy, to place him on trial, would have been insult enough. But to destroy not only him, but also his beloved Flanvel with an underhanded method such as this…not only was it unforgivable, it was craven. Treachery had always been the dictator's favorite card, and he played it often and from afar, secure in the knowledge that any repercussions, should there be any, were unlikely to come back to haunt him._

_Still, there were ways. Looking out sadly one last time at Flanvel's ruined husk, he turned away and spread his hands, eyes hardening resolutely. Frahma wished to rule forever; in his arrogance, he sought to defeat death and attain immortality. _

_The sigils shimmered in the air as he began to trace their patterns with both hands at once, unhurried, careful not to miss a single detail. True, he knew not a way to defeat death itself. But immortality… he brought his fingers together and drew them apart, tracing a perimeter around himself. Ah yes. In a way, that was exactly what he had managed to obtain._

_Outside of the circle the air flickered, the faintest outline of a tall, skeletal man beginning to take form. Gradually, as the spell progressed, the image would 'flesh' itself out, until the projection became an all-but-solid duplicate of himself. The imprint of his mind, the whole of his powers, and the bulk of his awareness would remain within it even as the bones of his true body would rot and turn to dust. The spell took time to create; it would take hours for the form to fill itself out, let alone to gain his imprint. And yet, when it was finished, at least a part of himself would remain, patiently awaiting the day that Frahma may chance to find the ruins of Flanvel. Until then, he would remain with her._

_A shade of himself, to accompany her lonely ruin through the ages to come._

_o_

_Someone was pounding on the door to his room, the sound reverberating dully through the darkness. Slone sat up groggily, awakened by the persistent banging. Throwing back the sheets he lurched out of his cot, feeling his way along the wall to the door at the top of the stairs. Groping for the latch, he lifted it and shoved the door open a few inches, glaring out through the gap. _

_"What is it?" He demanded, his voice harsh and thick from sleep._

_The lad on the other side took a step back, caught off guard by his unkempt appearance. "Ah, I was… well, that is to say, the Master sent me to tell you that you're to escort Aska and Peolin on their hunt this morning. He, uh, also wants you to designate a detachment of the guard for transport duty by this afternoon."_

_Slone grunted non-committally and ducked back out of sight, pulling the door shut behind him. Ear to the wood, he listened to the errand boy's retreating footsteps until he was sure that he had left the stable, then sunk down onto the stair, burying his face in his hands. _

_Was he awake? A sleep? Dead? After that dream, he could almost believe it. A part of him still felt as though he were on the deck of the doomed airship; the memories of the cloud-enshrouded peaks so vivid that he could still taste the sharp air, still hear the shrill cry of the wind as it rattled the broken shell of the Flanvel…_

_His beloved Flanvel…_

_He screwed his eyes shut, digging his fingers deep into his brow. No matter how hard he tried now, there was no way to keep the memories from resurfacing and mingling with his own. The intrusion was no more welcome now than it had been before, but the last of his medicine had run out, and the apothecary refused to sell him any more. Even the temples refused to help him; unless he could somehow manage to produce something of value, they would continue to turn a deaf ear to his pleas. But even in the service of the Alphine family, things of value were difficult to come by, as he had discovered. At first he had thought that there might have been able to slip something of value from the safe house, but after nearly being caught in the attempt, he had discarded the idea. No, if he was to do business with the temples, he would have to find something else of value to them. But this would take weeks or even months, while in the meantime the dreams intruded farther with each passing night. _

_Raking his cheeks with his fingers, he barked a laugh. He was going mad; he was sure of it now. Still, no one knew. So long as he kept his mouth shut and did as he was told, people would continue to think of him as moody and taciturn; a bit strange, maybe, but certainly not a madman. There was little danger there. Still, it was not a comforting thought. _

_A small shiver ran through him and he clasped his arms tighter about his head, suddenly aware of how ragged and loud his breathing sounded in the close darkness._

_There had to be another way._

**Zion's POV**:

The sun glimmered on the crests of the heaving ocean waves as they raced the length of the ship, dashing against the hull in sheets of white spray. The whole world washed smoothly by as the _Blue Wind_ ran before the wind, her snowy sails full and booming overhead. The sky above was a rich hue of blue, dotted here and there with thin wisps of cloud. Even the Moon had faded, reduced herself until she was little more than a pale impression in the western sky. In any direction there was no land to be seen; just miles upon miles of sparkling, rolling ocean. All in all, it was a breath-taking sight.

And oh, how I hated it.

I leaned heavily over the rail for the third time that day, trying my best to ignore the gentle rocking of the ship as I wondered when, if ever, I would next be able to keep a full meal down for more than an hour. Which was a shame, because the cook Shane had hired to run his galley was actually pretty good. But whenever I was aboard a ship the food just had a habit of making a ritual second appearance, whether I wanted it to or not.

Gingerly, I leaned back a bit. That was the problem with being out in the middle of the ocean; there was nothing solid for me to keep my eyes on. Everything was always rocking back and forth in the most nauseating way, even when the ocean was calm. The motion of the ship didn't help either; even on a big sailing ship like this one the deck had a bad habit of rolling beneath your feet whenever you tried to take a step, making it a challenge for me not to look like an idiot as I staggered across the deck, grabbing the rail for support whenever I could. By itself, the moving scenery was bad enough. With the shifting deck thrown into the mix, it became almost unbearable.

My stomach gurgled, and I moved away from the rail in a hurry. No sense in causing a fresh bout of sickness because I had spent too much time leaning over the side watching the waves. Deciding that the best course was probably to avoid looking at the waves altogether, I stumbled across the deck to the cabin house and slid down the ladder into the shady hallway below.

Timbers creaked and sighed overhead as I made my way down the hallway, one hand trailing along the thick guide rope that hung from the low ceiling. Mentally, I added that to my list of grievances with boats. All ships, no matter what size or type, seemed to be made for men about the height of my shoulder. As a result I had to stoop wherever I walked, occasionally bumping my head whenever a wave rocked the boat the wrong way. Grumbling, I made my way back to my cabin, stopping briefly in the galley to pick up a ship's biscuit and a tin of milk. Nowadays, it seemed to be the only thing my stomach had a chance of handling. Nibbling on the corner of the rock-hard biscuit absently, I pushed open the door to my cabin and dropped down onto the cot gratefully, slopping a bit of the milk on my hand in the process. Dunking the biscuit in it to soften it up a bit, I flopped my head back against the wall, glad that the only window was small and set directly above me, preventing me from seeing more than a small patch of blue sky.

Normally, I shared the cabin with Ry, but for the moment he was above deck enjoying the weather. He seemed to have something of a soft spot for ships, I had noticed. He certainly shoved us on them often enough. True, it was the fastest way to Mille Seasu, but still…

Bracing myself, I pulled the soggy biscuit out of the cup and bit into it with a grimace. After a week and a half out on the ocean, I was beginning to wish that we had walked instead.

I finished off the biscuit and milk and set the tin aside, brushing the crumbs off of my lap. Kicking off my boots, I swung my legs up onto the cot and stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the slight motion of the ship around me. As long as it was calm, I figured, Imight as well get some sleep. I seemed to be doing a lot of that, lately.

When I awoke, the room was dark. A thin stream of moonlight was filtering in through the window above, but for the most part the cabin was sunk in shadow. I blinked sleepily, trying to guess the time. I hadn't been a sleep for all that long, had I?

"Finally decided to wake up, did you?"

I turned my head sideways. Ry sat on his cot across the room from me, his face clearly visible in the moonlight. When he saw me look, he held a finger to his lips. "Shh."

"Spit it out, Shane. I want the truth, now."

"Don't I always tell the truth?"

"The _whole_ truth."

The voices were muffled, but clearly audible. I sat up slowly. Kaelin and Shane, by the sounds of it, but where were they? I pointed over my shoulder at the wall, and Ry nodded. In her room next door, then.

Shane sighed. "You're a difficult sister, you know that?" He complained. "Can't you just accept for once that I _am_ your brother, and like it or not, I _am_ going to try to look out for you?"

"I'm not a fool, Shane. No one in this family does anything without self-interest as at least partial motivation."

"You _are_ difficult."

"You and Lyke made me that way," she told him indifferently. "Live with it. So what's the deal now? Does father want me back for some reason, or are you just trying to make some foolish bid to reconcile the two of us again?"

Surprisingly, he laughed. "Reconcile? The two of you? Honestly, Kaelin, I thought that you were smarter than that. I'd have a snowball's chance in… well, you get the picture. Besides, I'm busy enough trying to cover Lyke's butt. He's trying to start his own separate business, you know."

"Turncoat. Good for him. Bravo. Now sit your ass back down and answer my bloody question before I take a yard of your-"

"Hey, calm down a bit." There was a slight 'thump' on the other side of the wall, and I assumed that Shane had sat down. I glanced over my shoulder at Ry. He was leaning forward now, listening intently.

Shane cleared his throat. "This, uh, does have to do with father, though."

"Figures."

"Kaelin, I'm doing you a favor and explaining this for you. Now _please_ just sit quietly and let me get on with it? Yes, this has to do with father, but not how you'd think. He's not doing too well, Kae. He's getting on in his years, and the weather's starting to effect his health. It's nothing serious for the moment, but the physician says that as long as he stays in Furni, it's only going to get worse."

"So? Ship him out of the country."

"We've tried." He sighed again, more heavily this time. "Believe me, we've tried. Be damned if he'll agree, though. But pretty soon the sickness is going to start effecting his mind too, and there's no way that the business will survive if he starts to make faulty decisions."

Kaelin whistled lowly. "Ouch. I always told him that he was senile, but I never really meant it. Are you sure? What are you going to do about it?"

"What can we do? We've tried convincing him, but that hasn't worked. I tried taking charge for a bit, but I don't have the guile for the job and besides; he just overrode me at every turn. We've tried just about everything. Except for one." He took a deep breath. "We're gonna try to supplant him."

There was a bump. "_What?_" Kaelin exclaimed. ""You can't do that! He's the head of the freaking family!"

"Fine time for you to start worrying about things like that," her brother shot back. "The way things are now, we don't have much in the way of a choice. Besides, it's not our father that we're supplanting. We're after Nicholas Alphine, the merchant lord. If we can force him out of his position as head of the business, we can replace him and send him and mother south to Tiberoa or Fueno. He keeps his health, and the business loses no status due to botched decisions."

"So either way, we win." Kaelin mused. Unconsciously, perhaps, she had begun to include herself in the family again when she spoke. "Who's in on this right now?"

The cot creaked. "At the moment, just mother and the twins. The rest are too young to be involved. Lyke knows, and he'll help if I press for it, but otherwise he's too far away to be much good at the moment." He paused for a moment, and then almost as an afterthought added, "And you, of course."

"Don't count on it," she told him darkly, but there was something in her tone that suggested otherwise. "Mother too? I suppose she'd want him to move for his health, but isn't this a little extreme for her? She was never too involved with his end of the business. "

"No, but she did take care of management. Trust me Kaelin, we can handle this."

"Good for you, but if that's the case, I don't see where you'll be needing me. I assume Lyke's taking over once you move him out, right?"

"Well, that's the tricky part."

"What do you mean, tricky?"

Still listening, I glanced over my shoulder and exchanged glances with Ry. For some reason, I couldn't see this ending well.

"It's not Lyke we want to take over. It's you."

There was a bang. "_Now that's just going too far!_" Kaelin yelled, and both Ry and I jumped. "You think you can… why don't you take that and… you…" She trailed off, apparently, for the first time since I'd met her, at a loss for words. At last, after a long moment of fractured silence, she managed to get out a lame, "You can't do this to me."

"I'm sorry Kaelin, but we don't have any other options. Lyke flat out refuses, and I'm just not suited to run this sort of thing. Any one else is too young, and besides, you're smarter than any of us."

"Not any more, I'm not. Lyke got the better of me in Bale, easy."

"Kaelin," Shane's voice was pained. "You used to be able to outwit father himself. Why do you think he was so reluctant to let you go? You do realize that he's officially named you heir, don't you?"

"But-"

"And the entire business will be left in your name, regardless?"

"But I…"

"You make a big show about hating the family, but if the business was about to crumble, you'd step in and fix things again, wouldn't you?"

"Arrgh, business, business, everything is always bloody business!" She snapped. "I _hate_ the whole damned thing! Look what it did to Lyke. Forget that, look at what it did to _us_! We're a whole family of sneaking wretches raised to lie and take advantage of people since birth! Father used to practically sic us on each other so that we could learn to go against our own blood, if necessary!"

"I know," Shane said quietly. "Soa, don't I know. And that's why it _has_ to be you, Kaelin. You know what's wrong, and you aren't afraid to speak out. You're the only one who can turn this whole mess around and make it decent again. You're honest, in your own way, and you'd never be as brutal as father is with his competition. But you're smarter than he is, and you can put that to good use. This is our one chance to set things right again, Kaelin. You can't run from who you are anymore."

The silence stretched. I shifted uneasily on my cot, trying to make as little noise as possible. What would she do now? What _could_ she do now, for that matter?"

Still silence. And then…

"I hate you, Shane. I really think I do."

"You'll do it then?"

"I didn't say that. It's just…give me some time, okay? You chose a really bad time to dump this on my plate."

"You've got as much time as you need. Where're you going?"

"Up on deck." The cot creaked again. "I need to find someone else to talk to for a while. Good night, Shane."

"Good night Kaelin."

There were footsteps, the sound of a door opening, and then one set of footsteps faded off down the hall in the opposite direction. The other lingered for a moment, then quietly started past our cabin. Suddenly suspicious, I lay down quickly and hauled the covers up over my body. Ry must have done the same, because when the door cracked open the room was still, the two of us apparently fast a sleep.

Kaelin peeked into the room tentatively, as though unsure of whether or not she ought to be doing so. I lay as still as I could, keeping my breathing slow and regular. Did she think we might have heard?

She muttered something under her breath, then sighed and left, shutting the door softly behind her. I waited until her footsteps had faded completely from earshot before sitting up, pushing back my blanket.

"Well, that was… interesting."

On the other side of the room, Ry said nothing at first. The moonlight had shifted slightly, but I could still make out his features dimly as he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Then, softly, he replied.

"Yeah. Interesting."

**Dart's POV:**

The ocean undulated like a steel-grey ribbon against the craggy shores of Mille Seasu, mirroring the clouds in the northern sky. The _Blue Wind_, her sails still set for the stiff winds of last night, cruised on a course parallel to the rocky shoreline leaving a swath of hissing foam in its wake. With my coat wrapped tightly about my body to ward off the chill I stood in the bow, watching the coastline slip past. Though it was still technically autumn, the air carried the feel of snow and the clouds hung low and threatening. Thankfully, we were close to port; after a relatively easy voyage, the last thing anyone wanted to deal with was snow.

(Dreary sort of morning, isn't it?) I remarked.

Ark grunted a reply. Over the past few days he'd become increasingly preoccupied, withdrawing to a somewhat secluded corner of my mind where he'd stay for hours on end, apparently lost in thought. Any questions I sent his way either went unanswered or received short, waspish replies, so I eventually gave up and left him alone. It didn't take a genius to guess what was bothering him.

I shifted my weight, leaning over the rail to watch a seabird soar past with mild disinterest. I couldn't tell _exactly_ what Ark was thinking, but the weight of his discontent and annoyance pressed so heavily against me that it was almost an effort to keep his moods separate from mine. The time lost on board the _Blue Wind_ grated against him; it had been almost two weeks since we had left Tiberoa, and neither of us had any way of knowing what Ayrel might have been up to in that time. After the trap we sprung on her in the Valley, it was a fairly safe bet that it was nothing good. And unless we managed to come up with another trump card in a very short amount of time, we both knew that we'd be the ones fighting at the disadvantage. And in the meantime, there was still Kaelin's mess with her family…

With a sigh, I rested my chin on my hand. Definitely a dreary sort of morning.

Behind me, a board creaked. Carrying a mug of steaming liquid that smelled suspiciously like strong liquor, Cai came to stand at the rail beside me, his face grey and haggard from lack of sleep.

"You're up early," he commented after a moment, his voice flat and toneless.

"I could say the same for you." I glanced at him sideways as he took a long drink, wondering what he wanted. Cai customarily avoided speaking with me at all costs.

He set his mug on the rail and wiped his mouth. "Never slept." He admitted. "I don't think I'm cut out for the life a fugitive. Too hard on my stomach."

"Stomach? Not your nerves?"

"My nerves are fine. It's just that my stomach's feels like it's trying to eat itself whenever anyone mentions the name 'Furni'." He shuddered, and then took another drink. "It's like being shoved into a den of snakes. And you say you live like this?"

"If you live with anything long enough and you can get used to it, I suppose. How's your wife handling it?"

"Better than me."

The conversation died away slightly at this point. Cai stared fixedly out at the horizon, taking such deep gulps of his rum that I started to wonder if he wasn't trying to erase his fears of the impending arrival in port by the simple expedient of drinking himself senseless. There was a sort of viable tension that hung in the air between us; I leaned forward, waiting.

At last, Cai emptied his seemingly bottomless mug, coughing a bit on the last swallow. With a grunt he set it aside, clearing his throat.

"Look," he said at length, with great reluctance, "I… want to apologize."

"What?" I asked, bewildered. I wasn't sure what I had expected him to say, but it certainly hadn't been this.

"Apologize." He grumbled. "You've been trying to help us as best you can, but I haven't exactly been easy on you."

I shrugged, not really knowing what to say. "Forget about it. I haven't been all that friendly with you either."

"You've got that right," he grumbled. "But I can't deny that you know what you're doing. You figured out a way to get that woman out of the palace, and somehow managed to keep the Moon Child off of our backs while we were doing so. And you still got us out of the country in one piece afterwards. If you hadn't shoved us into that mess in the first place, I'd say that we owed you." He clenched his jaw. "However, I still don't see where you got off giving my wife a weapon without my consent."

"She's a big girl, Cai." I told him mildly. "I'm sure she's capable of looking after herself."

He glared at me; for a moment I thought that he might decide to forget his apology and start another argument. I needn't have worried. Barking a laugh, he shook his head and looked back out at the horizon.

"I'll be blunt with you, Ry. I don't like you. You're secretive, manipulative, and downright vicious when the mood takes you. Because of you the temples are after us, and by consequence I'm fairly sure that our lives have been ruined. We face death or slavery if we're caught, but that's only if these bloody excursions you keep sending us on don't kill us all first." He snorted. "Plus, you're just downright _odd._"

I laughed, unable to help myself. At least the man was honest.

Cai didn't look over, but the corner of his mouth tightened. "On the other hand, the last time I checked, the temple hasn't even been able to touch you yet. They want you bad, but you know how to keep out of reach, and somehow I think that's the only thing that's saving us." He scowled. "I'll keep out of your face from now on, Ry, provided you do one thing."

"What's that?"

He gave me a dark look. "Don't screw up." With that he turned and stalked away, his boots thudding on the deck.

I watched him go, my face still. Then I turned away. "I had a wife once, you know."

Cai's footsteps stopped.

"I tried to stop her fighting too," I continued, as though nothing had happened. "'Course, that was before we were wed, but still, be damned if I could. She was determined to fight for as long as I did. Wasn't strong in body, but she had a strong heart." I stared into nothing, remembering. "In the end, though, it wasn't the fighting that took her from me. She took sick years later and died before a proper healer could reach her. Years ago." I glanced back over my shoulder, to where Cai had rooted himself to the deck. "That sickness cheated me of my promise to protect her. I couldn't save her. But-" I added, "that didn't mean she ever stopped fighting."

I held Cai's gaze for a long moment. Overhead the sails boomed and cracked against their ropes as the wind shifted slightly, gusting offshore.

"You…" Cai dropped his eyes first, shaking his head. "I think I'm going to go look for something else to drink. I don't think I'm ready to land in port just yet."

As Cai disappeared into the cabin house, Ark seemed to rouse himself from his corner. (Careful, Dart. You shouldn't go around talking about stuff like that)

(What?)

(You've been chased by the temple for _years_. You were married to Shana for _years_. I'd stop throwing that word around so casually, Dart. Regular people only have some many years to speak of)

(People use the word lightly all the time, Ark. There's nothing big about it)

(You only look thirty-two, Dart. Thirty-three, if only because you're a bit weather-beaten. Cai won't catch the slip, I don't think, but you can bet Kaelin would have been all over you after that, knowing what she already knows)

(All right, fine)I said, a bit peevishly. He did have a point, though.

(Just thought I'd point it out)

(I'm sure)

o

We landed in port late that afternoon, the sun low in the western sky. Though it was not yet evening a slight chill was in the air, and there was the piney scent of wood smoke carried on the breeze. As the _Blue Wind_ drew level with the dock, Shane called out to a porter over the side, asking that transportation be made ready for the moment we disembarked. Two covered carriages, both deep blue with a silver tree-and-thorn crest emblazoned on the door, wheeled up at the end of the dock. Shortly before we arrived in port, Kaelin had told us that Shane had extended an invitation to stay at the manor for a day or two until we had our destination sorted out. The family did not deal often with the Furni temple, so we ought to be reasonably safe, he had reasoned. And so we were ushered into the coaches and were swept out into the crowded city streets, rattling over cobbled bridges toward the eastern end of town.

We had thought to split ourselves and what little baggage we had between the two carriages, but in the end all of the luggage had been tossed into the first carriage with Kaelin and Shane, while the rest of us had been forced to crowd ourselves into the second. Sandwiched between Zion and the side of the coach, I gritted my teeth as the wheels bumped and jarred the cart uncomfortably.

"Hell's teeth," Cai grumbled after a particularly nasty bump. "There's two carriages! I don't see where they thought they ought to jam the six of us into this one." Wedged in on the other side of Zion, the fact that he swayed slightly in his seat was not entirely due to the rough driving; though he had regretfully set aside his rum some hours before hand, he still hadn't completely shaken off the aftereffects. Solana, seated across from him next to Mariko, pretended not to notice.

"They're brother and sister, aren't they?" Amaya replied after a moment. "They probably have some things they need to talk over." She sat opposite me, next to Mariko. Ever since they had been taken from the palace in Fletz, Amaya and Mariko had become almost inseparable, one rarely appearing without the other.

"There's still such a thing as common courtesy. Even if they had to talk, couldn't it wait until later?"

Zion and I exchanged glances. No one else but us knew about the conversation we had overheard between Kaelin and her brother that night on board the _Blue Wind_. I was fairly sure that not even Kaelin knew that we'd overheard. Still meeting his eyes, I shook my head very slightly. What went on between Kaelin and her family were her own personal matters; unless she chose to talk about them with us outright, it wouldn't be right to mention it to the others.

Zion shrugged, as if to agree, then rested his head against the padded back of the coach. "Guess some thing are too important to wait," he said, answering Cai's question. "She comes from a weird family."

Cai grumbled a bit more before falling silent. For a while the only sounds were the creak and rattle of the coach and the muffled fall of hoof beats from the horses drawing it. Leaving the city behind, we rumbled onto a shaded forest road that twisted and turned back among the evergreens. With a heavy sigh, I leaned back against the seat and rested my head against the window.

(Ark?)

Reluctantly, the dragon stirred. (What is it?)

(Did you sense Ayrel at all passing through Furni?)

(Of course not) He snorted. (You would have known if I had. But we didn't pass anywhere near the temple, so I couldn't say for sure whether she's here or not. As it is, I have trouble feeling her when she's not using her magic; she could have been in a house next to us and I might not have even noticed)

I watched the trees sweep past as the carriage turned onto a side road. (What are we going to do when she catches up with us? She won't be hesitating to use her magic this time)

(I know)

(So what are we going to do? Even with the divine armor, I can't compete with her in a battle of magic. From what I understand, Ayrel's magic is limited only by her imagination. The canon isn't flexible enough to counter that sort of variation)

(It was never meant to) Ark replied tersely. (The armor's attributes reflect those of the dragon from whom it was created. In the case of the divine armor, it was limited to my physical attributes only. At the time, I thought that was disgrace enough. I wasn't about to leave the imprint of my mind on it as well, so I sacrificed a certain amount of mental flexibility and shifted the emphasis to sheer power to compensate. Understand?)

(I think so. So there's no way you could change that now?)

(No)

(Damn) I closed my eyes. (So we have to work with what we've got, then, huh?)

Ark didn't reply.

I sighed, taking his silence to mean yes. As the carriage rolled to a stop, I opened my eyes and ducked just in time to avoid Zion's arm as he jumped to his feet, eager to get out of the coach. The rest of us followed suit, ducking through the low door down into the cobbled courtyard in which the carriages had been parked. Ahead of us, Shane and Kaelin had already exited: Shane was instructing a pair of porters as to what to do with the little luggage in the coach, while Kaelin stood a distance apart, looking apprehensive and grim. Looking up, she caught my eye and came over, shooting one last glance back over her shoulder at her brother as she went.

"I promised myself that I'd never have to come back here," she said quietly, turning to regard the courtyard with distaste. Flanked on either side by a two low stables, the end opened into a wide gravel avenue that wound up a long hill to a tall manor house looming large in the distance. From my angle it was difficult to judge, but it was easily four times the size of the Anlade's manor in Tiberoa.

Kaelin watched my expression, amused. "Horrendous, isn't it? I honestly think that if anyone suggested to anyone in my family that they build something a reasonable size, we'd have a collective heart attack."

"Seems like it," I replied faintly. "Are you sure your father isn't trying to make a bid at the throne of Mille Seasu?"

"Why would he? Kingdoms don't make a profit." She frowned up at the manor, scrubbing her palm with her fingers. "Father should be out to greet us soon. He never misses the chance to look down his nose at me."

"What are you going to tell him?"

She shrugged, still frowning. "As little as possible. For the moment, at least, I think I'm just going to build off of the story I fed Lyke back in Bale. In short, I came down hard on my luck and have regretfully returned to the house of my youth, humbly seeking shelter and assistance." She made a face. "Hopefully I'll be able to tell that to father without sounding so sarcastic."

"Do you think he'll believe you?" I asked.

"Hardly. But it'll confuse him, and buy me some time to start 'accidentally' letting hints drop about the 'real' story. Which, may I add, will be an even bigger crock than the first one." She scratched her elbow. "I only need to buy a few days. We'll probably be gone tomorrow, so it doesn't have to be anything elaborate. With any luck, I'll be clear and away from here before anyone starts to catch on."

"What about the rest of us?"

She waved one hand. "Guests. Shane says he usually makes a point of offering hospitality to business partners or anyone's who's helped him, so Father's used to it. That'll cover Cai and the women. For the moment, you and Zion are my partners in crime again. Does that work for you?"

"Does it matter? You're the expert in these matters, not me." I scratched my chin. "I think I'm going to have to go into Furni tomorrow, though. There're a few things that I need to check into."

Kaelin raised one eyebrow, but before she could speak, Shane slipped up beside her. "He's coming." He informed us quietly.

I glanced back over my shoulder. A tall man dressed in blue was making his way down the long flight of stairs, accompanied by a small body of men dressed in leather and plate armor. Beside me, Kaelin took a deep breath and straightened her vest. "Well, no point in putting this off any longer." With a visible effort, she forced her face into a pleasant expression. "You lot stay back here while I talk things over with the old coot. I don't want to have to drag this out any longer than I have to."

I rejoined the others as she crossed the courtyard to greet her father, arm in arm with her brother. Shane embraced him formally when they met, though I noticed Kaelin made no move to do so. Arms crossed, the pleasant expression quickly slid off her face as they spoke, and after a moment she shifted around so that her back was to us. Silently, we waited, within earshot, but too far away to clearly hear what they were saying. Then, at long last, the conversation broke off and they came toward us, guards trailing along behind them.

"So these are our guests, Shane?" Kaelin's father asked, fixing Cai and the others with a piercing look. "And Kaelin's… partners," he added, his eyes flickering to Zion and I. "Men. I should have known."

"I don't work well with women, father. You ought to know have remembered that," She reminded him with a frosty smile. "They can be a little difficult, but once you bang it through their heads that women can think too, they're worth their weight in gold."

"I imagine," he muttered, eyeing the sword hanging from by belt.

I frowned slightly. There was something familiar about him that I couldn't quite place. Tall and bone-thin, his slicked-back hair had turned almost completely iron grey with age, and his tanned face, though lined, was softly angular and regal. I was almost positive that I'd never seen him before, and yet…uncomfortably, I looked away, not wanting to seem to stare. As I did so, however, my eyes landed on Kaelin.

I blinked.

(Well, well) Ark laughed. (I don't suppose that you're going to share this with her, are you?)

It was like standing her next to a mirror. There were some obvious differences, of course, but otherwise, Kaelin was the spitting image of her father. Suddenly struck by the irony of it all, I looked away, fighting to keep my face straight as I felt her suspicious eyes on me. I was fairly sure that she wouldn't find anything the least bit entertaining about the matter, but still…

Lord Alphine coughed harshly, covering his mouth with one hand. "Pardon me. Captain Trebara? Would you be so kind as to take your men and our honored guests to the guest suites? My daughter and I-" he rested one hand heavily on Kaelin's shoulder "-have much to discuss, an we would not want them to become uncomfortable."

Kaelin winced. Next to her father, a tall man with pale skin and black hair nodded his head curtly and motioned toward us with his hands, indicating that we follow him. Unable to refuse, we left Kaelin behind with her father and brother and followed the guard up the stairs into the manor.

Up close, the manor was even larger than it had seemed from the courtyard, but Captain Trebara didn't hesitate. Leading us inside, he took us though the central portion of the building and up a double flight of stairs into the eastern wing of the manor. At last we came to a short hallway, tastefully decorated with small carpets and the occasional painting hung from the wall. Dark paneled doors lined either side of the hallway, and one by one Trebara showed us to our respective rooms, until only he and I were left standing in the empty hallway.

Showing me to the door at the farthest end, he pushed it open. "If you have any complaints, a maid will be around later for cleaning. Take them to her."

"Thanks."

He bowed curtly and turned to leave, brushing against me slightly as he passed.

(Dart!) Ark barked a sharp warning and I whirled around, already aware of what was happening. Sweeping the guard's legs out from underneath him with my shin, I seized him by the shoulders and knocked him backward over my knee, driving him down violently into the floor. His head rebounded once off of the hardwood, then lolled to the side, unconscious. A few feet down the hallway, the violet spirit, which he had dropped when I had felled him, skittered across the floorboards and bounced off of the wall, rolling slowly back toward me. Carefully, I stepped back over the captain's limp form and bent to retrieve the spirit.

(What was that about?)

(Your coat moved back a bit when you turned. He must have caught sight of it then)

(That wasn't what I meant) I rolled the spirit back and forth between my fingers. (What are we going to do with him? He'll be awake soon)

(Let me erase the memory. He won't be any danger if he doesn't remember what happened)

(Right) Crouching next to Captain Trebara's inert form, I reached out and set my free hand on his forehead. Watching carefully for any sign that he might wake up, I relaxed the mental boundaries between Ark and I, allowing him to work his magic. There was a slight surge as he reached out to the other man's mind, then nothing.

For a few moments nothing happened. Then, with a hiss, Ark suddenly severed the connection.

(What is it?)

(I can't get a grip on his mind) He growled. (There's nothing for me to work with)

(What do you mean?) I asked, a bit alarmed.

(His head is a complete mess. One second a memory is there, then it's gone in the next. It's like trying to catch a thin fog. Either his memory is total crap, or… this guy is completely mad)

(Are you sure?)

(I've touched a lot of minds, Dart. Trust me, I know. Ordinary people couldn't function with a mess like his)

I pulled back my hand and got to my feet, studying his face. Though he must have spent a considerable amount of time outdoors his complexion was wan and sickly, and black-grey shadows surrounded his eyes, even in the well-lit hallway. An insomniac, more than likely. (What do we do with him then? If his mind's as patchy as you say, will he even remember this?)

(I can't say. We'll leave him for now, but otherwise I don't think there's much that we can do short of killing him. And that might draw a bit of attention)

(Just a bit) I took a step back, and, still watching his face, fumbled at the carrier belt to find a clasp. My fingers slipped; the spirit fell back onto the floor, rolling until it stopped next to the Captain. Biting my tongue, I bent over and reached for the spirit again, but as I did so, it began to emit a soft glow.

I cursed and snatched the spirit up, snapping it back sharply into its holder. Almost immediately, the glow died away. It wasn't a strong connection, but even so…

At my feet, Trebara started to stir. Automatically I moved another step back. We _really_ didn't need to deal with something like this right now.

"Ry?"

I glanced up. Solana was leaning out of her door just down the hallway, looking apprehensive. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the guard lying on the floor at my feet, then looked up at me sharply. "What's going on?"

"We've got a problem." My fingers grazed the violet spirit in its holder, and I looked up, meeting her eyes. "A very big problem."

**Ayrel's POV:**

It was finished.

Walking around the table, I ran my hand over the smooth wood of the staff; admiring the contours of the twisted shape my magic had forced it into. About three feet long and coiled and knotted like an old root, the staff had been a piece of ordinary driftwood. We'd affixed an empty glass globe to the broad end; it protruded only halfway from the wood, as though the stick had absorbed it somehow. A luminous mist swirled inside it, glowing ever so faintly in the moonlit room I had chosen as a work place. At first we had been stumped as to how to go about making the thing, until mother had one day inadvertently stumbled on the secret. The staff did not draw its power from one singularly powerful spell; instead, it depended on nearly a dozen, all interwoven and supporting one another. It had been a complicated matter, finding a way to weave them together in such a fashion, but after a few sleepless nights, we'd managed it.

Somewhere high overhead, the bells began to toll the hour. Midnight was far-gone; it would be daylight in a few hours. Mother had gone to bed as soon as we had finished the staff earlier that night, but I was still too alert to sleep. Its completion had filled me with a sort of restless energy, and I prowled around the table in an endless circle, unable to take my eyes from it. Such a plain thing, and yet…

"Ayrel?"

I stopped pacing. Father slipped soundlessly into the moonlit room, clutching a sheaf of folded papers, looking weary but pleased with himself. Setting the papers on the table next to the staff, he sunk into a chair with a sigh. "They arrived in port this evening on the merchant ship _Blue Wind_, just like your mother said. Apparently they're staying at the Alphine Manor just up the coast."

"Took them long enough. What's with the papers?"

He dragged one hand through his short-cropped hair, making it stand on end. "A report from Commander Mychael. He arrived in port a few hours ago with our guests from Serdio. He's already started up the river with them to Deningrad."

"That's good. I was starting to worry that they wouldn't get here in time." Pulling up another chair, I sat. So we're almost set then, aren't we?"

"Almost. All we need now is a way to separate Dart from the others."

"Hmm…" Reaching out, I ran my fingers over the staff, feeling the smoothness of the warped wood. Across from me, Father leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

There was a timid knock at the door. Sitting up, I took my hand off of the staff. "Come in."

The door cracked open and an old priest shuffled in, looking tired and apprehensive. "I'm sorry to bother you at this hour of the morning, divine one, but there's a man at the temple entrance demanding to see you. The guards have tried to chase him off, but he's being very insistent. He claims to have something important to tell you." The priest looked perplexed, as though he could not imagine what could be so important that it was worth bothering with at this hour. "Of course, I can have the guards take him away, if you wish," he added quickly.

My curiosity piqued. "No, don't bother. He's at the front entrance, did you say?" The priest nodded. I looked over at father, who hadn't even bothered opening his eyes. "Father, do you want to come too?"

"I don't see why not." Reaching up, he rubbed his forehead with one hand, and then suddenly disappeared. I followed immediately, the room around me dissolving only to be replaced with the dimly lit entrance hall of the Furni temple.

Two guardsmen stood on the doorstep a few feet away, trying to hold back a lean middle-aged man in a long cloak, who seemed determined to break past them. When I appeared behind them, however, he jumped back, dropping onto his face so fast that at first I thought he must have tripped and fallen. The two guards, also shocked at my sudden arrival, stumbled away, stammering.

"Your H-Holiness! He-"

"Yes, I know." I cut them off curtly. "Return to your posts, both of you. I won't be needing you. And you," I added, turning to the man kneeling on the stairs as the guards clattered off, "what did you want? I appreciate your efforts, but it _is_ a little early in the morning, don't you think?"

The man slowly got back to his feet. He was rather tall, and almost unnaturally pale, even in the golden lamplight. His eyes were sunken and hollow, and his scraggily black hair was in disarray. He might have passed for one of the homeless people living along the docks were it not for the highly burnished breastplate he wore underneath his cloak. "Please forgive me, my Lady, but I could come at no other hour." Turning back the neck of his cloak, he revealed the crest of the Alphine family stitched to the dark fabric. Letting go, he took a deep breath and lifted his head, meeting my eyes.

"I have some information that might interest you."

* * *

Run away :P Mwehehe… 


	56. Set

_-The cast crowds around Shade's laptop, peering anxiously at the screen. Shade is curled up in a chair, snoring peacefully-_

Dart: C'mon, who's up this time?

Zion: Why should you care? You're the main character! You know that you'll at least get in every other chapter or so!

Dart: _-Sticks his tongue out-_ Bah. Do not! Ayrel's gotten more POV than I have, lately!

Solana: Well, how do you think the rest of us feel? It's been about five chapters since I last got any time in! And Cai hasn't done much better!

Garren: _-crying forgotten in the corner-_

Bleh. It's starting to get difficult to keep the different characters on a regular rotation so that they each get a POV every few chapters or so. Sometimes I don't have much choice in the matter- some scenes absolutely have to feature so-and-so, while I have a bit more choice with the others, but still… I feel like I'm leaving them out of the fun. I'm not kidding when I say that Ayrel has had more POV rounds over the past few chapters than any of the other characters. Dart's running a close second, but that's understandable. But then you get characters like poor Garren, who haven't come out to play in… ah, I've lost track. I guess when you're dealing with eleven or twelve possible perspectives, it's gonna be a pain in the butt to arrange it so that they all get their time in. I'm covering Ark, Amaya, Cai, Asalla, and Dart for this chapter, but it looks like the others will have to wait for a bit, considering the next chapter's already a bit cut-and-dried as to who gets what.

Like almost every other chapter, I didn't get a chance to do much proof reading before I went ahead and posted it- it was either that, or risk having to wait another week or so delay. I'll go back through and proof it once I have the opportunity.

**Brutal2003**: Yes, to the other dragoons, and essentially anyone else who does not already know who he is, Dart remains 'Ry'.

**FiredancerAtrea: **Whoops. I seem to have caused a wee bit of confusion here. Slone Trebara (or Captain Trebara) was in fact the man at the temple in the final scene of the last chapter. There was a lapse of several hours between Dart's POV and Ayrel's (Ayrel's happening at probably around two in the morning), so he had time to meander his way into town.

* * *

**Ragnarok's POV:**

The first cold light of morning stole softly into the room, lighting a narrow path that crept between the heavy curtains, inching across the floor and stretching up the far wall. Tiny motes of dust swirled in the weak light, drifting in and out of the shadows as they spiraled gently down to the thick carpet. The rest of the room was still sunk in a dim half-light; chairs and tables, drab and colorless in the gloom, were pushed back in clusters against the far wall, half-covered by pale sheets. A set of chests stood in shadow beside the window, Dart's heavy coat draped over the edge of one open drawer. There was an air of studious neglect about the place; the room was rarely used, so it had been carefully cleaned, brushed, and arranged before being left to gather dust. Only the bed, neatly turned and covered with fresh sheets, had shown any sign of continued care when we had settled in the night before. Which had been more than enough to satisfy Dart, who would have gladly slept on the floor after spending the last few nights tossing on a straw pallet.

Dart himself was still asleep, though I had eased him aside and now lay awake, staring at the ceiling while the room around me gradually brightened. Through the gap between the window curtains I could just see a thin sliver of overcast sky, the bellies of the clouds tinted orange-gold by the rising sun. Yawning, I cocked one arm back behind my head and rested against it with some relief. It hadn't been an enjoyable night. Dart hadn't slept badly, but troubling dreams had kept intruding on his rest. Or at least, they had tried. It isn't really all that difficult to divert dreams, but our troubles had been weighing on his mind heavily of late, and keeping them away had been like swatting flies all night long. It wasn't something I had to do, precisely, but the last thing that I needed right now was for him to be distracted at a critical moment by memories of a bad dream. Still, it was bothersome. Normally I use the nights to think, but with the constant interruptions I hadn't really been able to focus on my own problem. And while I thought that I might have found an answer, I was still no closer to a decision than I had been when Dart had finally dropped off late last night.

I rubbed my eyes. My main headaches stemmed from the fact that no matter how I looked at it, Ayrel was going to have the upper hand the next time we would meet. She would decide the time and the place, and I knew it would cause her no pain to set us at the greatest disadvantage she could devise. Even greater a concern was that she would have her magic. If it were to be one or the other, we might be able to overcome the disadvantage. With both combined, the odds were stacked against us. And as Dart had pointed out yesterday, the Divine Armor alone wouldn't be able to make up the difference. If the other dragoons would fight that might give us the flexibility, but I knew that to be wishful thinking. They were willing to fight the temples to save themselves, but I doubted that any of them would dare to face off against Ayrel. Even if they would, none of them was even close to the level of strength they'd need to be in order to stand a chance against her. Not yet, at any rate.

So what options were left? Kicking back the covers, I stretched and got to my feet, shaking the stiffness out of my limbs. Dart would be awake soon, so there wasn't much point in lying around in bed any longer. Retrieving his clothes from the back of a chair I dressed and went to the window, pushing back the heavy drapes. The sun had just risen over the tree line and was kissing the grey underbellies of the clouds, casting a watery light over the frosted rooftops surrounding the courtyard below. Resting one elbow against the side of the window frame, I watched a crow skimming low over the treetops while my breath misted the glass.

Ayrel had weighed heavily on my thoughts ever since we had left Tiberoa, and I had turned the problem over in my mind a hundred times since. But no matter how I looked at it, I couldn't find any way to twist the circumstances to our favor. Without knowing where Garren was, there was no one to whom I was willing to turn for help, and without knowing where Ayrel was for certain or where the fight would take place, there was no way I could plan against that either. Dart had hit the nail on the head yesterday when he had said that we would have to work with what we had.

Outdoors, the crow soared over the rooftops and spiraled tightly, gliding down into the courtyard below. _What we had._ And just what did we have? The dragoon powers, Dart's own strength, and the broken down remnants of my own abilities. In short, the only things that we had ever been armed with. Until now, that had always been enough: between Dart's overwhelming prowess with the sword and the amplified strength of the Divine Armor, we had never had a need for anything else. But Ayrel had proven before that she could hold her own against Dart's sword, and her magic, if the way she had mimicked the cannon blast back in Tiberoa was any indication, seemed only to be limited by what she could imagine. And as deep as her wingly powers ran, there were depths to which I was sure she had yet to delve- if she even knew they existed. So far, it seemed, she had only used her powers as the Moon Child to bolster her own prodigious ability. I doubted she had much control over it beyond that, or if she even knew what she might be capable of if she could access them. If she did by some chance stumble upon a way to break them open completely, well…

I shook my head. We had enough problems as it was without adding to them with my nervous speculation. For the moment our greatest concern ought to be how to counter Ayrel's magic- what she had now, not what she might someday obtain.

So what was there? Against magic Dart's sword was useless, and the powerful weapons of the dragoon armor were still only limited to blasting holes, however creatively Dart might do so. Aside from these, the only thing left was my own power as the Divine Dragon- and that had corroded so much, I wasn't sure what exactly could be done with it. Not to say that it was useless- I still used it from time to time, though I needed Dart to act as a channel- but between myself being forced into the dragoon spirit and then undergoing a semi-extraction to forge the connection with Dart, the nature of it had changed significantly. Once it had been a weapon, with defined limits and form. Now it was closer akin to an ocean, a massive amount of power raging uselessly against the walls that enclosed it. Without my own body, my chances of being able to form anything beyond a simple spell were about the same as Zion flying to the moon and back. I could channel it through Dart without any real problem, but once I drew it out I would essentially be fighting with raw energy. Against Ayrel, there would be no spells, no finesse. Just an out and out brawl, with our success dependant on smothering her power with my own before she could manage to retaliate.

Using my own power wouldn't make for a clean fight, but given what we had to work with, it might give us the best chance at fighting her on level ground or better. This depended, of course, on how much power I would be able to channel through Dart. On my own, I had enough strength to overwhelm her, but using it through Dart would seriously curtail the amount that I would be able to use. Dart's body was human, and as a result he could only safely deal with a limited amount of that power flowing through him at any one time. Too great an amount was unsafe. Total exposure had the potential to kill him. His body had no natural safeguards against the damage that might result from handling that much power at once: a limited mental resistance was the only defense that he had. If I could find a way to break that resistance, the path would be open, but I would have to use my own mind as a buffer to try to protect him as I did so. Even then, our time would be limited. One minute, maybe two. After that, the exposure would become too great and his body would begin to damage itself, unable to cope with the flow.

I sighed, taking a step back from the window. It offered some possibilities, but I was reluctant to condone it as the best course of action. There was too much risk involved for the both of us, though it endangered Dart far more than it did me. Even if I did manage to buffer the power properly, his body would still suffer. His mind too, if I wasn't careful. And in order to avoid the resistance his mind always set against me, I would have to have absolute control- which meant, more than likely, that he would have to be unconscious. But what alternatives did we have? I could pump my power into the Divine Armor, but even though it would pose less of a risk to Dart, it would only be a slight improvement on our previous circumstances. It would increase the destructive capabilities, but the armor would still lack the flexibility that we needed. Maybe with the other dragoons acting as support, but once again…

The sun, now clear of the trees, had disappeared into the clouds hanging low and heavy in the eastern sky. A stiff wind was picking up off of the ocean, rattling the skeletal limbs of the hardwoods and sending the last of their dead leaves swirling over the yellowed fields beyond the manor, framing them against the shiftless grey sky. Even behind the frosted panes, I could feel the promise of snow carried in the air clear morning air. One week, maybe less, and the evergreens would be bowing beneath the weight of the first snowfall. After that, travel on foot would become difficult.

I sank down into a half-covered chair, still watching the clouds morosely. I needed more time to think it through, to better weigh the risk against the need. But soon Ayrel would make her move. No matter how I twisted to avoid it, there could be no ignoring that simple fact. That invisible deadline hung over me like a cloud, curdling behind my thoughts as I tried to find another way out of this mess. What we needed was time.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what we were being denied.

**Amaya's POV:**

The gelding snorted softly, whiskers tickling my skin as he snuffled my palm hopefully. He'd already cleaned my pockets of the rolls I'd brought along for my breakfast, but when he discovered that my hand was finally empty he lifted his head back over the door and began to nose around in his bedding for any dropped tidbits. Wiping my hand on my thigh, I looked around for something else to feed him, without much luck. I'd always had a soft spot for horses, but the little gelding had been the center of my attention ever since I'd wandered into the barn an hour ago. Now that I had run out of food, however, his interest had slackened off rather quickly. A little disappointed, I reached over the door to pat his shaggy bronze shoulder and then left him to rifle through the contents of his bedding without an audience.

"Have you had about enough, Mariko?"

Across the aisle, Mariko glanced back at me over her shoulder from where she knelt on a trunk watching a yearling in another stall. Shaking her head, she got up and hitched her cloak higher up over her shoulders, frowning a bit as the fir trim tickled her face. Shane had provided us all with warmer garments this morning, after Cai had commented on the chill. Mariko had been as grateful as any of us for the gift, though she didn't seem too fond of the fur. I had taken a heavy felt coat for myself, the inside quilted for extra warmth. I was born in the Broken Islands, and though I had spent most of my life in Bale, I still felt the cold very acutely. It was mostly because of this that we had come into the stable instead of wandering around outdoors; the stable wasn't heated in the same way that the house was, but a score of horses generated enough body heat to keep the building warm enough not to be freezing.

We'd left the mansion shortly after breakfast. In spite of the chance for a rest, no one seemed to be able to relax. Tension filled the quiet halls; a feeling helped in no way by Kaelin, who had taken to skulking around the guest wing in hopes of avoiding her family. None of us knew exactly what had passed between her and her father last night, but after an initial period of waspishness early this morning, her mood had subsided into a sort of perpetual disgruntledness that hung over her like a cloud of gloom. Mariko, who seemed quite conscious of this, had rather insistently dragged me out of the warm house and out into the cold, anxious to get away for a little while at least. Kaelin was a good sort, and had even gone so far as to make an effort to get to know us better during the voyage, but her mood could have soured milk.

Still fussing with her cloak, Mariko wandered down the row to inspect Lord Alphine's stallion, leaving me to sit on a hay bale and wait for her to finish. I didn't really have to stay with her, but even though we were well clear of Fletz and the Moon Child, I still felt as though she was my responsibility. Since she couldn't speak, Mariko had trouble communicating with anyone who had no clear idea what she wanted. It was easier, both for her and for my conscience, if I stayed with her to try to keep an eye on her. I had discovered early on that even if she couldn't speak verbally, her eyes and movements spoke volumes. I've always been quite good at reading people's faces, so it wasn't _too_ difficult to tell what she wanted or was feeling- most of the time. But even when my eyes failed me, intuition usually kept me from getting too off track. In either case, it was easier for everyone involved if I stayed nearby. Besides, for the first time in years, she was one of the few people I could really call a friend.

There was a rattle at the near end of the barn, and a puff of cold air stirred against my cheek. I looked up as Shane pulled the door closed behind him with a slam, startling several of the horses out of their collective doze. Ry, who had come into the barn with him, stood blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Dressed as always in his fading black coat, it hung open and unbuttoned; the cold didn't seem to bother him as badly as the rest of us, who were mostly from warmer climates. Not for the first time, I wondered about him. When I had still been with the Dread Knights the information that we had been given regarding him had been brief and to the point, consisting of a detailed description, a list of charges leveled against him, and an order to kill on sight if at all possible. Oddly, no name had ever been included in the description, nor who he was or where he was from. What exactly he had ever done to earn the impressive list of charges had never been fully explained either, and for all the warnings and fuss, until recently it had been a rare thing for any reports of him to come in at all.

And yet…

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather take one of the carriages into the city?" Shane asked, peering into the stalls as he walked down the aisle. "It would be much more comfortable, and you wouldn't have to worry about being seen."

"Wouldn't the crests on the doors attract some attention?"

"Not as much as you'd think. But if you feel that way, we've got an unmarked hack in the carriage house that we use for errands. It's only partially covered, so you won't be completely out of sight, but since you can drive it yourself it's probably your best bet."

Ry scratched his head, thinking it over. He really had quite a mild face, when he wasn't tense or brooding. "All right. Do you need any help bringing it out?"

"Not really." Shane turned to go. "I'll go fetch some stable boys to bring the cart around outside. I'll keep them out of here, so just take any horse that suits you. The harnesses are in the room at the far end."

When Shane had gone, Ry turned to me. "Would you mind helping? I'm not much good at harnessing up horses."

I got to my feet, dusting hay off of the seat of my pants. By the time I had brought back a harness from the tack room, he had already taken a horse out of its stall and held it in the center of the row, scratching its forehead with one hand. When I got a bit closer, I recognized it as the gelding I had been doting on earlier. Mariko had left off examining the stallion and now sat on the hale bale I had just vacated, watching Ry silently. From what I could tell, she still had yet to form a definite opinion about the man, though she by no means actively disliked him. Dumping the harness on the floor next to her, I began to sort through the pile of leather.

"You're heading into the port?" I asked after a moment, shaking the bridle free from the tangle and handing it to him.

"Yes." Slipping the halter off over the gelding's head, he popped the bit into the animal's mouth and pulled the bridle up over its ears. "There're some things I want to check out before we decide what to do next. If the temples are going to give us any trouble moving around, we might have to intrude on Shane to lend us a hand again."

I set another piece of tack over the animal's back, and bent to fasten the straps passing underneath its belly. "Then you're going alone?"

"I don't think more than one person is needed. I've already tracked down Kaelin and told her what I'm doing." He made a face. "She spent a good five minutes trying to convince me to let her come along. She really wants to get away from her family. But I'm asking you all to keep your heads down and stay out of trouble when I'm gone, okay? The last thing I need is to get back here and find out you kids have made another mess for me to clean up."

"We'll do our best." I patted the gelding on his flank. "Be careful if you're going to go near the temple though, yes? The Dread Knights in this country are concentrated in this city, and they keep a very close eye on the ports. The Grand Commander himself spends much of his time in the temple with the high priest."

Ry gave me a strange look, but said nothing. Together we finished harnessing the gelding in silence, helped from time to time by Mariko, who had begun to grow restless. When he was ready to leave, however, he hesitated, and then groped around at his belt for a moment.

"Here." Reaching out, he deposited something small and hard into my outstretched hand. "Give this to Zion to hold on to, and for the Goddess' sake, do not let that spook-eyed captain know that he has it. Ordinarily I'd take it with me, but I won't have my coat to cover it once I'm in the city, and the last thing I want is to attract any extra attention because of it."

I nodded and pocketed the violet spirit. At the far end of the barn, the main door creaked open and Shane poked his head in. "Are you guys done? The twins want their horses saddled for their hunt, so you should hurry up and clear out."

"We're just about ready," Ry called over his shoulder and then turned back, looking between Mariko and I. "Try to make sure Kaelin doesn't go and do anything stupid, okay? I'm not too worried about the rest of you, but she and Zion tend to egg each other on sometimes, and I really, _really _don't want to have to deal with anything they cook up unless its absolutely necessary."

Mariko and I followed him out of the barn, narrowly avoiding the two harried looking grooms that rushed in after us. Two children, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, followed slowly at a distance. Accompanying them were a few members of the house guard, their armor-plated jackets gleaming dully as they walked. Heading the group was Captain Trebara, his sallow complexion and sunken eyes even more sickly than usual under the overcast sky. He faced straight ahead as he passed us, but for an instant his eyes flickered in our direction, looking past us to where Ry and Shane were hitching the gelding to the cart. And then he was past, gone into the stable with the others.

Mariko pulled her cloak higher over her shoulders, craning her head to look through the doors. Then she pulled back, catching my eye and shaking her head with a troubled expression on her face. There had been nothing friendly in the look that man had given Ry. _No good_, she seemed to say. _No good._

In the yard, Ry had climbed into the cart and was sorting out the reins while Shane checked the traces, talking all the while. Once they seemed satisfied that everything was in order Shane stood back from the cart and Ry drove off, the little cart rattling down the hill toward the gate. Shane watched him go, then rubbed his hands on his pant legs and came back over to us.

"What do you say we head inside? It's really quite chilly, and I don't think any of us wants to be out here when the weather _really_ decides to turn foul." He shivered, and then offered his arm to Mariko. "Does that sound okay to you ladies?"

I shrugged, falling in step beside him as we began to make our way back up to the manor. "Who were the children who just went into the barn just now?" I asked.

Shane glanced back over his shoulder. "The twins? Aska and Peolin. They've got an absolute fascination with foxhunting. Nasty hobby, but I think they're more interested in chasing the poor things than actually killing them."

"And they take guards with them?"

"It's the only way Father will let them leave the grounds. The forest is home to all sorts of unsavory things."

"The animals?"

He looked at me, surprised. "I was more thinking trappers and bandits, but I suppose that there's those too. Father's more concerned with what might happen if they were taken in for ransom or blackmail. Problems for the business, you understand," he added, his lips twisting with disgust. "Otherwise, they'd be free to roam as they pleased."

On the other side of Shane, Mariko nodded her head back over her shoulder, and then sucked in her cheeks and rubbed her fingers beneath her eyes. _Trebara?_ "What about Captain Trebara?" I asked, watching Mariko to make sure I'd gotten her question right. When she bobbed her head, I continued. "How long has he been in service to your family?"

"Slone? I'm not sure, actually. He's been around since Maylin was born, so seven years at least. Maybe longer." He scratched his head. "I don't know very much about him. He's a bit of a recluse. Why do you ask?"

"No real reason. He just struck us as a bit strange, that's all."

o

The rest of the day was spent lying around the guest wing of the manor. After I delivered the thunder spirit to Zion, there was really little else to do. Lunch was brought up to our rooms around midday, and so I spent most of the day lying around on my bed, browsing through a book I had found lying on a table. The afternoon passed in a sleepy doze; it wasn't until nearly evening that anything happened at all.

Finally growing bored of the book, I left my room and headed downstairs, wondering when the kitchens would be ready to serve supper. As I passed one of the windows in the lower hall, I happened to glance out. Two riders were cantering up the hill from the gate, their dark mounts lathered with sweat. I started to walk past, then hesitated, looking out the window again. The horses were so close together they must have almost been touching, and was something unnatural about the way one the riders sat in the saddle. It wasn't until they reached the courtyard that I realized that the other rider was literally holding him in the saddle. As I watched, the hairs on the back of my neck began to rise.

The other rider was Captain Trebara.

By the time I reached the courtyard, Trebara had dismounted and was trying to slide the other rider out of his saddle. Cai, who must have been in the stables, helped him while a stable hand took away the other mount. Together they laid the wounded man out on the flagstones, trying their best not to jolt him. A dark stain had spread across his abdomen; someone had tried to stop the bleeding by stuffing a scarf into the wound, but it didn't look to have done much good. His skin was pale from blood loss, and at some point he had lost conscious.

"Where's Mariko?" Cai demanded as I crouched next to him, reaching out to touch the bloody fabric.

"With your wife." I peeled back the cloth, studying the gash. "But I don't think-"

"What's going on?"

We turned. Shane and Kaelin were hurrying across the yard, looking alarmed and concerned at the same time. As the second horse was taken away, Shane grabbed the stable hand's shoulder and muttered to him something about bringing healing supplies. Then he knelt next to Kaelin opposite us. "Captain? What happened?"

"Bandits." Trebara's thin face was bruised, and a deep cut ran high across his forehead. He looked worn and tired, but there was a life in his eyes that hadn't been there when he'd ridden out this morning. "One of the hounds got its leg caught, and they ambushed us while Peolin was trying to get it loose." He shook his head. "There were too many of them for us to beat off. I tried to follow them, but…"

Shane rocked back on his heels, stricken. "Then they have the twins."

Trebara hung his head. Behind him, a stable hand came hurrying over and gave Kaelin a jar of foul-smelling liquid. Wordlessly, she passed it to Cai, who pulled the scarf away from the wound completely and began to apply it. For a long moment the five of us sat in awkward silence, Shane with his head in his hands while Kaelin stared fixedly at the ground, her face unreadable. Behind us, the front doors of the manor banged open and the air was filled with the sound of rushing footsteps.

"What is going on here?" Lord Alphine demanded, his voice hoarse and slightly out of breath as he was aided down the last of the stairs by a servant. Running down the stairs behind him, Solana, Mariko, and Zion dodged around Kaelin's father and joined us. Mariko had her spirit halfway out before I grabbed her arm, stopping her. The potion was doing the job well enough, and bringing a dragoon spirit out into the open right now could be dangerous.

"Shane!" Alphine barked. "I am not going to repeat myself. What has happened?"

Still stunned, Shane repeated to Lord Alphine what Captain Trebara had just told him. A particular breathless silence settled over the courtyard as he spoke, and even the wind seemed to take pause, leaving his words sounding alone and somehow very small in the vast hush. Overhead the heavy grey clouds continued to roll, determinedly smothering the afternoon sunlight with their weightless bulk. Through all of this a crowd had somehow developed; stable hands and servants, slipping away from their duties, stood in a wide semi-circle around us, watching and listening with sober expressions on their faces.

Throughout it all Lord Alphine's expression remained coldly composed, but the skin around his eyes tightened slightly as his son finished. "I see," he said, taking his hand from the shoulder of the servant who had been supporting him. Though he stood on his own, for an instant he seemed horribly frail and tired. "Captain Trebara. I was under the impression that my children were safe so long as they were in your company. It seems, however, that I was mistaken." His eyes flashed, and the sense of weariness gave way to one of carefully contained anger. "I don't suppose that you would be able to give a reason for this?"

Trebara averted his eyes.

Lord Alphine's expression grew grim. "Is that so. You disappoint me, Captain." He gathered his robes about him and turned away, his shoulders rigid. "You have two hours. If you cannot find a way to rectify your mistake by then, I suggest that you give some serious thought to the state of your mortality. I do not take the failure of those in the service to this family lightly."

Shane looked at his father incredulously as Slone got to his feet, his eyes still on the ground. "This is idiocy!" Shane exploded, his open, honest face flushed with anger. "One man can't take on a dozen! You're sending him to his death, father!"

"If that's what he chooses to make of it, then so be it!" Lord Alphine glared back over his shoulder at his fuming son. "He _allowed_ his charges to be abducted! Death is the very least he deserves."

"Give him a fighting chance! At least send some men with him so that he at least has a _hope_ of bringing them back! Don't you even care what happens to Aska and Peolin?"

"That's enough Shane!" Alphine's voice crackled.

"He needs more men!"

"_Shane!_"

"He's right, you know," another voice said suddenly.

All eyes fixed on Kaelin. Slowly, she got to her feet, dusting her hands off on her knees. Looking over at one of the stable boys, she nodded her head in the direction of the barn. "Better go get the horses ready."

Shane looked up, suddenly hopeful, but at the same moment her father commanded sharply, "I forbid it!"

Kaelin pretended not to have heard. She motioned to Zion, then glanced back down at the stable boy, who seemed confused as to whom to obey. "Well?" she barked, "Get going! I don't have time to tack up all of those horses by myself!"

The stable boy jumped, and then ran off to the stables closely followed by Zion. The rest of us got to our feet, exchanging grim looks. Ry wasn't going to like this.

"Kaelin!" Lord Alphine grabbed her shoulder tightly, spinning her around to face him. "You will not-"

"I will not _what_?" She snapped, knocking away his hand. "I won't go help them? You think I'll just sit here while you pull your strings and send others to try and worm a way out of this mess for you? What are you going to do anyway, huh? _Bribe _those damn bandits to give Peolin and Aska back? Send someone to stab them in their backs later on so you don't have to get your own hands dirty?" She glared at him, her face flushed with anger. "That's half the problem with this stupid family. You won't even stick out your neck to help your own children if you think even for a moment that there's a risk of loosing it!"

Lord Alphine stared at her, his face white and his nose pinched with fury. I doubted whether anyone had ever dared to speak that way to him before. Father and daughter glared at one another, staring each other down like stray dogs over a scrap of meat.

Kaelin's gaze never left her father's. "Cai? Solana? Go back up to our rooms and get our weapons and anything else you think we might need. If anyone tries to stop you, push them down the stairs or something. We're leaving the moment you get back." Her father tried to interrupt, but she continued on talking, raising her voice to drown out his. "Captain Trebara? Patch yourself up and then go help Zion with the horses. We're going to need you to guide us to where you lost the twins." Her mouth twisted slightly, but her fixed glare never wavered. "And _you_, Lord Nicholas Alphine, had better not even think about sticking your nose into this. I'd thought that maybe you still had some brains left, but you've obviously become so cowardly and senile that any sense you must've had probably turned to water and leaked out your ears years ago. Go back to bed and leave this one to us. At least nothing we can do could match the disgrace you've already tried to make of it." And with one final, withering glance she turned and stormed away, leaving her father standing speechless in the center of the courtyard.

o

We caught up with Kaelin in the stables, where she sat leaning against the side of a stall taking deep breaths of air. I shut the door quietly while Shane went to crouch next to her. Mariko glanced over at me, made a face, then went down the aisle to help Zion and Trebara prepare the horses at the other end. The barn by now was starting to look rather vacant.

"You haven't lost your touch at all, have you Kaelin? Father looked like you hit him in the face." Shane's smooth face was creased with worry, but at the same time he seemed subtly impressed.

Kaelin exhaled slowly, pushing her hair back from her face with both hands. "I'm surprised that _he_ didn't hit me for saying stuff like that," she admitted, "but he makes me so mad, I probably would've just smacked him back. That old man needs a kick in the arse."

"I'll hold his arms for you," Shane said with a small grin. "But seriously Kaelin, what are you going to do? From what Slone… Captain Trebara said, there must've been at least a score of bandits when the twins were taken. And even with Trebara along… seven against twenty isn't good odds."

"That dragoon spirits will fix that. But I'm sending Trebara back once we find that bandit's trail. I don't want to go waving the spirits around in front of his face."

"If you're sure…" he said a bit dubiously. "Do you want me to come to? Fighting isn't really my thing, but I'm not a bad hand with a rapier."

Kaelin shook her head. "Nah, Don't bother. One of us has to stay in the family's good graces, and seeing as I'm all ready neck deep in this crap, it'll have to be you. I do have a favor I need to ask you, though."

"Ask away."

Kaelin looked up at me. "Amaya, did Ry say how long he was planning on staying in Furni today?"

I shook my head. "Not specifically. I got the impression that he would be gone awhile."

"I should have known," she grumbled. "Stupid ass."

"Do you want me to find him?" Shane asked.

"Yeah. Tell him what's going on; talk to Trebara before you can go so that you can give him a rough idea of where we're headed. He's followed us through some pretty crazy places before, so I wouldn't worry too much about him being able to find us. Just make sure you tell him _everything_, otherwise he'll probably blame the whole thing on me and bite my head off for it later."

"Gotchya."

As Shane left us to go talk to Trebara, I sunk down next to Kaelin. "Do you think he'll be able to find Ry in time?" I asked.

"I hope so. Even with the spirits, if Trebara's wrong about the number of bandits, we might need him. Ry, he… he's a really good guy to have on your side in a fight."

I glanced sideways at her out of the corner of my eye. She was looking at the floor pensively, her eyes hazy and her expression downcast. She wanted him around for the fight? Well, yes obviously, but at the same time…

Overcome by a sudden suspicion, I looked away, keeping my face studiously blank. There was no real reason for it, but… in my mind, several things had come together with a satisfying click. I rested one cheek in my hand, hiding the little smile that was twitching at the corners of my mouth. A good man in a fight indeed.

We left the estate shortly afterwards, Shane riding with us until we reached the main road. From there we cut across a flat field and rode into the forest, following an old woodcutter's track that ran inland into the hills, curving around boulders and rocky outcroppings. Slone rode in the lead, followed by Zion with Cai taking up the rear, the rest of us strung out between. The track twisted and turned deeper and deeper into the forest, forking and almost disappearing, but Trebara led the way without hesitation. As the land rose the trees grew increasingly dense, and soon the road trailed off, depositing us on the banks of a shallow old riverbed. Leaving the path, we followed it north, until the trees grew so close that we were forced to leave the bank and ride along the dried out bottom. This continued for perhaps a half-mile or so before ending abruptly at the foot of a steep hill that seemed to announce the beginning of the ascent into the rolling foothills that made up much of the country's forest. Here the riverbed became a ravine that was gouged deeply into the hillside, a steep scar cluttered with natural debris and boulders. A stream bounced back and forth over the rocks, pooling and spilling over the boulders until it reached the bottom where it disappeared beneath a gravel bar. Evergreens loomed high overhead, lining the upper lip of the ravine. Several of them had fallen; they hung over the gap like rotten bridges, patches of moss clinging to their flaking trunks. A little light filtered through the evergreen canopy, but what little of it reached the forest floor only dappled the shadows; here, the woodland was dark and cool.

Silent.

Kaelin glanced back over her shoulder at Trebara uneasily. "I've been here before. There's an old dam further uphill, isn't there? What were you doing letting the twins come back here?"

"They can't control where the fox runs any more than I can." Trebara nodded toward the side of the riverbank where the trees were the thinnest. "This is as far as I can take you. The horses won't be able to make it up the ravine, so I'll tend them while you go up. The ambushers got us up at the top, just past the dam."

Hobbling our horses, we left them at the foot of the ravine, up on the banks of the dry riverbed. Trebara stayed with his own horse, letting her pick at the scanty grass between the tree roots as he watched us start up the rift.

The first few feet were easy, but the climb quickly became more difficult. Leaving Mariko behind with Zion, I hurried as best I could to catch up with Kaelin, who was scrabbling rapidly over the rocks some distance ahead. Something had been nagging at me ever since we had come in sight of the ravine, though it was difficult to say what. There had been no change in the forest, nothing threatening or out of the ordinary, unless you counted the silence. So what was it?

Up ahead, just over halfway up the ravine, Kaelin had stopped for a breather. Climbing over a fallen trunk, I paused for a moment to look back down at the riverbed, some fifty or sixty feet below. The sense of unease increased; frowning, I looked closer. I would never call myself clairvoyant, but years of experience had taught me to trust intuition and instincts over anything else. But even from up here, nothing seemed wrong. Nothing was out of place.

_Nothing…_

I jerked as though breaking out of a dream, realization hitting me like a thunderbolt. Of course nothing was out of place; nothing had happened here. The only hoof prints in the riverbed belonged to our own mounts; there was no sign that anyone else had come through in ages. If the hunt had come through here, even with the riders on foot, the dogs would have left a trail of some sort. But to not notice it until now… I whirled around, angry with myself for being so blind. Calling Kaelin's name I started towards her, leaping down from the boulder on which I stood.

It happened suddenly, without warning. The air became heavy and thick, prickling like a sheet of needles against my skin. Beneath me my foot slipped as I landed and I dropped my staff, the blackened wood clattering between the rocks. The prickling lessened slightly as I stooped to retrieve it, but the pressure remained, squeezing against my temples like a headache. Reaching up, I touched the side of my head gingerly, and then froze as a sense of familiarity set in. The same sense of weight lingered in the temples for days after the Moon Child had stayed in them for any amount of time. But to feel it here…

"Kaelin!" I repeated her name, louder this time. Getting my feet under me, I bounded over the last few rocks and caught her wrist, pulling her back. "We have to get out of here!"

"Amaya? What…" she trailed off as air was filled with a sullen rumbling, punctuated by a sharp crack that echoed off of the trees for miles in either direction. The rumbling became a roar; beneath our feet, the stones began to tremble.

"Run! The dam's split!"

**Cai's POV:**

Amaya's words echoed off of the sheer rock walls of the ravine, reinforced by the sounds of the unleashed river surging past the barrier that had restrained it until now. It took a stunned moment for the meaning to register; then as one we lunged for the walls, Zion and Mariko diving to the left, while Solana and I went to the right.

Grabbing a hold of a root, Solana threw her trident over the lip of the ravine and began to haul herself up. At the top of the ravine, a wall of white water smashed around the bend, pulverizing rocks and tree trunks with earth shattering force as it swept down the old riverbed. Cursing, I ducked down and grabbed her around the knees, ignoring her cry of protest.

"Up you go, Lass!" Gritting my teeth, I heaved her upward, boosting her up and over the edge of the ravine before finding a handhold and dragging myself up after her. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw Zion pulling himself up the side to join Mariko, he himself tall enough to climb out unaided. No sooner had his feet cleared the gap than the river swept past, a foaming, roaring monster that pounded itself against the rocks and clawed at the banks, tearing away chunks of earth and stone. Automatically I backed up into the brush, pulling Solana after me. It wouldn't take long for the river to undermine the banks, and once that happened it would be dangerous to venture too close to the edge.

"You guys all right?" Zion called from the other side. The ravine wasn't really that wide, but his voice was almost lost in the thunder of the river. He and Mariko, I noticed, had also moved back until they were among the trees.

"We're fine." Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Kaelin and Amaya making their way down the hillside toward us. "Barely. What happened?"

He shrugged. "Dam busted," he replied, stating the obvious.

"Dams don't just break open because they feel like it." I took another step back as the rim of the ravine in front of us shuddered and dropped into the deluge. Behind me, a branch cracked; Kaelin and Amaya pushed their way out of the bushes, neither of them looking too pleased.

"Where's Captain Trebara?" Kaelin asked immediately, tugging the sheath of her saber free of an entrapping branch.

I looked around sharply. At the bottom of the ravine the river had overflowed the old bed and was flowing in a broad flood through the low forest, swirling knee-deep around trees and mossy hummocks. Neither Trebara nor the horses were anywhere to be seen.

"Do you think he was caught in the surge?" Solana asked.

Amaya shook her head. "I don't think so, somehow." Her grey eyes narrowed, searching the swamped woods. If she expected to find anything, however, she seemed to be disappointed.

"What caused the dam to break?" I asked Kaelin.

She shook her head. "No clue. I've seen it a couple times before. It's as old as the hills, but whoever made it knew what they were doing. They built it about thirty feet thick and made almost entirely out of granite and oak slabs. There's no reason why it should have given way as suddenly as it did."

On the other side, Mariko and Zion were struggling to keep up with the conversation over the volume of the rushing water. "Do you think the bandits broke it?" Zion asked, apparently having heard that much.

"Assuming that there were even any bandits to begin with," Amaya said quietly. "It seems to me that Captain Trebara might not have been as honest with us as we had hoped."

Zion raised one eyebrow, having missed her remark, but she just waved it off with one hand. He shrugged, then looked at Kaelin. "So what now? Go check it out? I don't know about you, but I don't think we should just hang around here."

Everyone looked around, exchanging glances. "Will you two be okay?" I asked. "If we run into trouble up at the top, the river's going to keep us cut off from each other. We might not be able to help you out."

Mariko shook her head, and Zion shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Worse come to worse, we can always use our spirits. Rivers don't matter much once you're in the air."

Right. The spirits. I kept forgetting about those, for some reason. Next to me, Solana waved her hand. "Be careful, then. We'll meet you up at the top."

Even allowing for the dense undergrowth, it wasn't difficult to find a path up the side of the hill. The woodland gradually thinned toward the crest, until the bushes had disappeared almost entirely and the trees became somewhat more spaced out. As we neared the top we grew cautious, spacing ourselves out and moving quietly. Though no one said anything, Amaya's offhand remark had made us all wary, and the uncertainty of the situation weighed heavily on our thoughts as we climbed.

At the top the hill crested briefly before dipping into a shallow, muddy basin that had until recently been a lake, but was now steadily draining the last of its water out into the ravine. What still remained of the lake was fed by a shallow river coming out of the mountains at the north end of the basin, filtering into the ankle-deep mud that surrounded the steadily shrinking body of water at its center. At the very mouth of the ravine stood the remains of the dam, a solid, wood-and-stone construction that had at one time been a good thirty feet thick at its base. The middle of the dam looked as though it had been blown away, and timbers stood out on angles from its face like broken bones while the water continued to gush through the gap like a fountain. Whatever had been used to cause the break was nowhere to be seen, and the area was deserted; the only sounds were the rush of the river and the wind sighing through the trees.

Feeling the hairs start to rise on the back of my neck, I left the others and crept out onto the exposed edge of the dam to examine the break. I wasn't sure what it was that I was looking for, but what I found was even more unsettling than the desertion. The core of the dam had simply been torn away: there were no gouges, no cracks in the stone to suggest that someone had ever taken tools to the thing in attempt to weaken it. Just a clean hole with the wooden timbers pushed outward, as though some giant, invincible fist had punched through.

I took a step back off of the edge onto the solid bank, easing my hatchets in their loops on my belt. In the west, the edges of the clouds had begun to brighten; it was getting close to sunset, if it wasn't already.

"Cai!"

I turned around. Solana clambered up the side of the bank to join me, using her trident like a walking stick. "This feels wrong," she said quietly, turning to look over the diminishing lake. "It's like no one's been here in years. I think Amaya was right about Captain Trebara."

"It certainly seems that way." I frowned, squinting into the forest. "He went through a lot of trouble to get us here, but beyond the dam, there's nothing here. It's ridiculous!"

"Mmmm…" Solana looked around suddenly. "Where's Zion and Mariko? I thought that they said that they'd meet us up here?"

I started to reply, but as if on cue there was a sudden commotion in the woods to our left on the opposite shore, the sound of steel on steel ringing out clearly in the chill air. Cursing, I reached for my hatchet, searching for a way across, but there was no need; a moment later Zion ran out of the woods with his blade drawn, pulling Mariko along behind him. Pushing her toward the dam, he turned around and lifted his sword, calling back to me as he did so, "The woods are full of Dread Knights! Get ready!"

Behind us, the woods were suddenly alive with the rustle of leaves and snapping branches; both hatchets in hand, I turned around in time to see eight Dread Knights emerge from the forest. Their black-enameled armor gleamed dully in the filtered sunlight as they spread out in a broad semi-circle, pinning us between themselves and the lakeshore. Then, with a menacing, deliberate slowness, they began to advance.

Amaya and Kaelin backed up until the four of us stood in a broken line where the dam met the lakeshore, readying their weapons. "The joints in the armor," Amaya murmured softly. "They're strong across the shoulders, but if you can get your blade into the joints between the lower curve of the breastplate and the slats over the abdomen and twist it, you can break them open. It's been a flaw in the standard issue armor for years now."

I nodded, keeping that fact fixed firmly in mind. The question as to _why_ we were in the middle of the woods facing off against temple soldiers seemed largely irrelevant, for some reason. There would be enough time to sort out the how and why of this later.

The Dread Knights began to close in, almost shoulder to shoulder as they advanced. Tensing, we braced ourselves, grimly measuring the odds.

A hairsbreadth before the Knights came within range to attack, the ground in front of us suddenly erupted in flames, sweeping forward hungrily over them in a crackling, smoking wall. Automatically I leapt after it, swinging both axes wide as the first Dread Knight emerged coughing from the firewall.

All sense of order dissolved at that point. As the flames died away both sides clashed with maddened ferocity, and the air was suddenly filled with the sound of steel. Out of the corner of my eye, I dimly registered two flashes of light, green and blue, as Solana and Kaelin joined Zion in the air. For an instant I found myself fighting back to back with Amaya, and then she too was gone, diving down with brutal intensity on one Knight who had managed to corner Mariko as she reverted from her dragoon form.

Locking my axes around the sword of a Knight wearing a bull-faced helm, I tried to sweep his legs out from beneath him, all the while wrestling with his blade. He was marginally smaller than I was, but stronger; step-by-step I was forced back up the slope, until my heels scuffed on the stone at narrow walkway on the top edge of the dam. The ravine yawned on my left; to the right, the dam sloped down into the swirling dark water backed up behind the barrier. Inch by inch, I was forced out onto the edge.

Jerking his sword free of my axes, the bull-face swung low at my knees, trying to cut my legs out from beneath me. I skipped backwards, father out along the dam. Somewhere behind me was the gap; I could hear the water rushing out through the hole, the strength of the flow undiminished from when it had first broke through. Parrying another stroke, I gave ground again, my feet slipping slightly on the moss covering the rocks. As the Dread Knight drew back for one final strike, I risked a glance over my shoulder. I stood almost on the rim of the gap; another six inches, and my heel would be on the edge.

Leveling his sword with my chest, the Knight thrust. Unable to dodge completely, I could only twist to avoid as best I could as his sword drove forward, slitting open my side to the bone. I gasped with pain, flinching from the blade, but the extension of the thrust gave me the opening I needed. Swinging overhand with both hatchets at once, I caught the crosstree of the sword hilt under their down curving blades and hauled back with all of my strength. The Dread Knight, caught unprepared and off balance, was dragged forward; sidestepping onto the slope of the dam, I pulled my axes free and swung again, the blow ringing off of the back of his helm as he stumbled past. Unable to stop himself, the Knight went over the edge into the ravine.

My feet slipped again, this time on the blood slicking the stone from the gash in my side. Gritting my teeth, I clasped one hand to the split and scrambled back along the edge onto the bank, pausing for a heartbeat to assess the fight before plunging in again. Zion's transformation had long since ended; backed into the mud, his feet skidded beneath him as he fought, hard pressed to hold off two men at once with his oversized sword. A third lay unmoving in the mud nearby, still holding the remains of a shattered sword in a death grip. Nearby, Kaelin fought back to back with Solana, her slim blade a blur as she menaced another Knight, blood streaming freely over one ear. Solana was in slightly better shape; she didn't seem to be too badly wounded, but her face was flushed, and she gasped for air as she thrust at a wounded opponent with her trident. Mariko and Amaya were on the edge of the woods, both in dragoon form as they cornered the final two Dread Knights. Both of them seemed to be wounded, but it was difficult to say where or how badly: blood stained the ivory surface of Mariko's armor, and the same leaked from a crevice in Amaya's breastplate.

Leaping down from the edge of the bank, I helped Solana finish her opponent before the two of us joined Kaelin in her fight. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zion go down to one knee, still fighting hard. He only faced one man now; the other lay curled up in the mud, moaning and clutching his leg. I hesitated, wondering whether or not to help Zion out when at the edge of the woods, another fighter entered the fray.

Wielding a long-bladed spear, Trebara leapt out from the brush, thrusting hard at Mariko as she dove at a fallen Knight. Unable to stop, the spear lanced through her abdomen, the tip arching out her lower back as it pierced her clear through. Screaming, she fell, her armor disappearing as she ploughed hard into the ground. The Dread Knight she had been fighting rolled over, whipping out a long bladed knife to finish her, but was stopped short by an infuriated Amaya. As she dropped to her knees next to Mariko Trebara bolted past, racing toward the battle on the lakeshore.

In the mud, the Dread Knight stepped in close, reversing his grip on his sword and smashing Zion in the face with the twisted pommel. Zion reeled back, blood streaming freely from his broken nose. As he stumbled, Trebara tackled him, driving him roughly to the ground. He flung his spear to one side; grinding Zion into the mud, he tore at his clothing furiously, his hand coming away at last with something small and round, glowing faintly violet in the fading light.

I'd already been moving when he'd started toward Zion, but had been too far away; now, smashing my axes down on the helm of the remaining Dread Knight, I cut him off, my feet sliding in the mud as I swung at him wildly, my arms by now burning with fatigue. He dodged, diving into the muck to retrieve his discarded spear. Rolling, he came to his feet in time to catch my second swing on the long haft, bracing his weapon against his shoulder as he supported it with his left hand.

Our weapons were still locked when I caught the telltale flicker in his right hand as the violet spirit activated, filling the air with the angry crackle of lightning. With an oath I freed my hatchets and stumbled back, one hand diving into the leather pouch at my belt where I had stored my own spirit. I had never had the opportunity to use it before- but neither had Trebara. Activating it in a hurry, I was taken aback by the sudden flow of power that rushed from the spirit into my body as the air around me was swallowed up in a brilliant golden glow. I wasn't sure what I had expected, exactly, but it hadn't been this. The fatigue I had felt before vanished, replaced by a strength that seemed as solid and unyielding as the stones themselves. And then the transformation ended, leaving me standing ankle deep in the mud, encased in the formidable armor of the golden dragoon.

Trebara was already above me; I could feel it without looking. Fanning my wings, I kicked off hard, veering to the left almost immediately as he swooped at me, swinging an almost grossly elaborate version of the spear he had been using before. It ricocheted off of my shoulder guard, and I aimed a counter attack at him as he passed. Too slow; he shot past and banked hard to the right, circling around wide for another attack.

The first transformation didn't last long; this much I remembered very clearly. Trebara and I were both running on the same time limit, but once the armor wore off we would be back in our original bodies, and unwounded and fresh, he would be in a much better position to fight than I would. But even now, in terms of attacks, I couldn't match his speed physically, which left one option.

Trebara wheeled around, coming in for his final attack. Extending his spear, he drove at me in a maneuver similar to what the first Dread Knight had tried on the dam. At the last instant I discarded both of my axes, hurling them down into the sopping mud of the lakeshore and spread my arms wide, twisting slightly to avoid his spear and then clamping my arms tightly around him, pinning his arms and wings to his body in a crushing embrace.

Below, where my axes had driven into the mud, the earth began to tremble in response to the call from the spirit. Beneath the mud something moved, thrusting up in a mucky hummock that quivered and shuddered like a trapped beast. Abruptly it burst, sending a shower of splintered stone skyward in a deadly fountain.

Protected by my armor, the shards had no effect on me- but Trebara had no such advantage. The splintered stone dug into his armor and ripped across his exposed skin, digging angry, livid cuts in his face and arms. He stiffened, arching his back in my grip, struggling to break my hold even as both our spirits suddenly flared and dimmed, taking our armor and dropping us both into the mud.

I landed on top of him, driving him hard into the muck. Breathing raggedly, I grabbed the front of his jacket, twisting it tightly in my grip as I pulled back my other arm, preparing to hit him with everything I had left.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

A woman's voice, amplified beyond all meaning of the word echoed off of the trees, rattling my teeth and numbing my brain. Almost immediately a shock ran through me, rippling up my spine and thrilling through my nerves. My limbs seized up; paralyzed by some unseen force, I was as unable to move as though I were locked into place by invisible chains. Straining my eyes upward, I could just make out a small crowd of people coming out of the forest on the near side of the lake, led by a platinum-haired young woman wearing a boy's shirt and breeches.

**Asalla's POV:**

The plan was quite simple.

I had honestly expected something more complicated, for all the research and planning that Mathis had insisted that we do, but in its execution, it was beautifully straightforward. We would capture Dart's dragoons, take them to Denningrad, and then wait for him to come and try to retrieve them. When he did, Ayrel would be waiting- with the dragon block staff we had so painstakingly recreated from the journal of the Serdian king. Even the incidental details that had arisen along the way were easily solved. The deal with the Alphine's guard had provided us with the key that we had needed to lure the dragoons away from the Alphine manor. The dam had been Ayrel's idea- a prop to push them to react rather than think the situation over. The ambush hadn't gone so smoothly, but in the end, the main goal was achieved; too tired to put up a resistance, the spell of paralysis neatly snared them all without incident. The only real issue had been Captain Trebara's interference. His stunt had nearly killed the white-silver, and in turn, he had nearly got him self killed when the golden dragoon had turned on him. I had interfered in time to prevent that, thankfully, but I was annoyed at having to do so. Ayrel had gone through a lot of trouble to repair that man's mind, and already he was trying to get himself killed.

Still, the expressions on their stiffened faces were gratifying as we came out of the wood, trailing behind us, under the watchful eyes of two Dread Knight Sergeants, the two children whom they had gone through this trouble for in the first place.

"Some of them are going to need healing, Mother." Ayrel scanned the shore critically, sizing up the situation. "And it's going to be difficult to take them all back to Deningrad at once. We'll have to break it down into two or three jumps."

"As you say," I replied placidly. "Would you like to explain things, or should I? I don't think we'll have too much more time before he arrives."

"I'll take care of it," Mathis said. "Asalla, you go heal the half-breed. She won't make it very far in the condition she's in."

Ayrel shot her father an annoyed look. Mathis had a tendency to try to take charge of the situation when he thought he knew what should be going on, something that had been happening more and more frequently of late. "Never mind, mother," she said loudly, with a significant look at her father, "I can handle it."

She murmured something beneath her breath, and twitched her fingers. I felt a filament of her thought reach out, flickering toward the fallen dragoon. There was a surge, and suddenly the woman lurched into a sitting position, able to move once more. Hastily, I extended the spell of paralysis to cover her as well; she froze in the act of pushing herself to her feet, unable to twitch so much as a muscle.

"All right, everybody," Mathis announced, striding forward along the edge of the mud. "Let's try to make this as easy as possible. In a moment, this lovely creature behind me is going to let you move again- slowly, of course. You will drop your weapons and get to your feet, and do exactly as we say. There will not be any foolishness trying to escape, and if any of us feel even so much as a whisper from those spirits you're carrying, well…" he looked back over his shoulder, motioning to the Dread Knights to bring their struggling charges forward. "I'm sure you understand what would happen next. I'm not normally an aggressive man, but it would be a shame for something to happen to these two children after you went through all of this trouble to find them again."

"Aska! Peolin!" One of the dragoons, a dark-haired young woman with dirt and blood caking one side of her face, began to struggle against the bond. Frowning, I tightened the restraint, feeling the others trying to react as well. Maintaining the spell was beginning to become tiring; looking back over my shoulder, I shot a desperate look at the Dread Knights. In unison, they drew their short-bladed knives meaningfully, tightening their grip on the arms of the gagged twins.

The resistance stopped almost immediately.

"That's better," Mathis said approvingly. "You see? It's not so hard after all. Now, throw down your weapons and get to your feet."

With a bit of relief, I relaxed the spell. As the feeling returned to their limbs they slowly got up, an assortment of weapons splattering into the mud and onto the leaves. The white-silver, I quickly saw, hadn't been the only one in hard shape. I looked at Ayrel, but she made no move to use her healing spell again.

"What do you want with us?" The man nearest to us demanded, still straddling Trebara's half-conscious body. "We're not going to be your slaves!"

Ayrel and I exchanged looks. "Slaves?" She repeated in a measured tone. "Where did you get a ridiculous idea like that?"

"That's what you did in Tiberoa!"

"Oh, that." Ayrel waved a hand dismissively. "Sorry to disappoint you, mister… Anlade, was it? Cai Anlade. That whole business in that arid dustbowl was for the benefit of your brainless Queen, not me. Besides, I think that you'd find that there's very little any of you lot could actually do for me."

"Liar."

Ayrel turned to face the woman who had spoken. "You would be his wife Solana, right? Fine. Tell me exactly why I want the lot of you. Go ahead; we're all listening."

The Anlade woman opened her mouth, and then hesitated. Ayrel smiled, though there was little friendliness in the gesture. "You see? Nothing."

"Then why are you doing this!" She almost exploded.

"Like I said, I want nothing with you. Except… to open your eyes to a certain truth." Ayrel spread her hands wide.

A sudden hush settled over the group. Then the dark-haired woman who I assumed must be the Alphine girl spoke quietly.

"You're after Ry, aren't you."

"Is that what he's calling himself nowadays?" Ayrel raised an eyebrow. "He goes through so many names, its difficult for me to keep up. But if you know that much, then I suppose you must have some idea as to why I want him."

"He has… he had the spirits." The tallest one, his face scarred and haggard, spoke from behind the hand he was using to cover his broken nose.

"Really? If that were all I wanted from him, why would I need him now? I have all the spirits that I could need right here in front of me. Besides, there's nothing that the lot of you could do that I couldn't possibly do for my self." Her expression turned frosty. "No, that's not the reason at all. You really have no idea, do you?"

Something brushed against the edge of my mind as she spoke; like a tug at a distant alarm. "Ayrel," I said suddenly, "he's coming."

"Already?" She looked over at me sharply. "How much time?"

I sent out the thought, tagging the faint energy signature, judging. "Five minutes. He's on horseback."

"He doesn't know that we're here." She bit her cheek, deciding. "All right, everybody. I'd hoped to have a little more time for chitchat, but it looks as though that will have to wait for later. Come over here; we're going to go for a little trip. Mother, I want to know the instant he's close enough for that dragon to sense us."

"Yes dear."

"Why are you after him?" The Alphine woman demanded, acting as though she hadn't heard a word. "Stop screwing around!"

"Screwing around?" Ayrel paused, studying her through frigid eyes. "That _man_, if he's even that, has been trying to kill me since the day I was born. He's hounded my family's steps, slaughtered countless people, and you say I'm _screwing around_?" She glared at her, then turned away. "Not that I expect you to believe me. Get over here, all of you. I'll take you to Deningrad, and then you can see the truth for yourselves. After all the effort he's gone through to shelter you from the fact, it'll be the least I can do to dispel those illusions before he can fog your minds any more."

"How do you know that he'll even bother to come?" Cai grumbled sullenly, still rooted firmly to the spot. "Any idiot could see that it's a trap."

My daughter laughed. "He'll come, don't you worry. I could lure him through the gates of hell, using you lot as bait. Now get over here. Remember, I still have the twins."

Slowly, grudgingly, they came, clustering together in front of us as Mathis directed them. Together, Ayrel and I created a teleportation spell, carefully extending it to cover the entire group.

"We're going to have to make this trip in several jumps," Mathis warned them. "We have a few more… friends of yours waiting for us in the palace, and it would be shame if something were to happen to them because one of you tried to escape while we set down in the Evergreen Forest."

The alarm went off in my mind. I pushed all of my power into the spell, preparing to warp. "Ayrel! He knows!"

"Slone Trebara!" She barked, also feeding more energy into the warp. "Give him my message, and I'll consider your dept repaid."

Trebara, still lying on his back in the mud, flicked one hand to show that he had understood. Satisfied, Ayrel pulled back into the circle.

"Now!"

The world flickered once, then disappeared.

**Dart's POV:**

Shane had caught up with me in the marketplace, just as I had been preparing to leave the city. We had found no trace of Ayrel, though one of the priests had confirmed to me that she had been there only that morning. When Shane told me what had happened at the manor, however, my stomach had tightened as though someone had clamped it in a vice. She was involved, somehow. After getting a rough description of the route they had taken from Shane, I swapped horses with him and left him with the cart, already sending out my thought after the trails of the spirits even as I kicked my new mount into a gallop, scattering squawking street venders as we barreled through the crowded streets.

Once out of the city I cut into the forest, following the mental pull of the dragoon spirits. Wherever they were, they had stayed close together. As to whether this was a good sign or not, it was impossible to say. Gritting my teeth, I set my heels harder to the horse's sides, urging it for more speed as we plunged at an already breakneck speed through the overgrown forest.

We had come perhaps five miles or so when I pulled the exhausted animal to a halt. Coming down into a hollow, the entire forest floor sat beneath a foot of water, leaves and sticks swirling on its surface to collect against the hillside. Drawing rein, I backed up a few steps, looking around. Through the trees I could catch glimpses of more water; no matter where I looked, the forest seemed to have flooded.

"What in the name…" nudging my horse forward, we carefully waded into the soup. The spirits were close by, somewhere on the other side of this mess.

(Dart!) Ark barked suddenly. (She's here!)

The horse lunged forward, stumbling through the water in great, leaping strides. The flooding fell away; with solid ground underfoot once more, it moved back into a heavy gallop, laboring up the steep hill.

And then, as suddenly as Ark had noticed it, Ayrel's presence disappeared, taking the trail of the spirits along with it. Driving the horse up the last few feet we crested the top of the hill and slid to a stop; swinging down out of the saddle, I looked around in dismay, already knowing what I would find.

The hill had leveled off into a plateau with a muddy looking lake at the center, but I wasn't interested in the geography. The ground was bloodstained; here and there the body of a Dread Knight lay crumpled in the mud. Weapons had been scattered across the ground, lying as though discarded. But beyond that the place was bare, empty except for the bodies of the Dread Knights. Dismayed, I took a step away from my horse, letting the reins fall to the ground.

"Heh… heh…"

I jerked my head around. Someone was laughing; a wretched, gurgling sound that sounded as though it was being pulled from someone's throat. Scanning the shore, my eyes fixed on a familiar form lying face up spread-eagled in the mud. Ark snarled wordlessly; feeling much the same I went to stand over the pathetic figure, glaring down at him through the black muck coating his face and clothing.

"Trebara."

The captain, beaten and bloody, opened his eyes. "The Child sends you her regards," he grinned, "and cordially invites you to come and join your friends. Though I wouldn't count on either party living long enough to see the other." Still lying on his back in the mud, he began to laugh uproariously.

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him halfway to his feet. He made no move to resist; still snickering, he hung from my fists with his legs twisted limply beneath him. "Where did she take them?" I demanded, jerking him a little higher. "Where are they going?"

The laughter trailed off, and Slone rolled his head to regard me with one swollen eye. "To Denningrad. But what do you care? Even if you by some miracle got there in time, you'd never be able to stop her."

Deep in my chest the divine spirit flared with sudden warmth. "We'll see," I told him coldly. Taking a firmer hold, I dragged him roughly through the muck away from the lake, until my feet were on solid earth and there was nothing separating us from the cloud-steeped skies overhead. A sudden gust of wind rattled the bare tree limbs, sweeping across the bloodstained earth with a howl. It picked at the hem of my coat, snapping it angrily as I let Slone slump back down again, though I kept a firm hold on his collar with one hand as I bent down and put my face close to his.

"I hope you don't enjoy heights," I told him grimly, embracing the heat that the spirit was spreading slowly through my body. "In fact, I hope you bloody well freeze to death before we get there. You said that it would take a miracle, Captain Trebara?" I straightened, glowering down at him as the spirit burst into joyous flame, the searing light blazing through flesh and bone in a brilliant nimbus that burned away the murky shadows cast by the settling twilight.

"Let me show you that miracle."

* * *

Base response to this chapter? My gosh, Cai is a vicious fighter. The mental image of him driving Slone into the mud was rather vivid, for some reason. Didn't know that the old boy had it in him until now._–waves a little flag that read "Go Cai" in neon pink letters-_


	57. Match

Garren: … she's doing it again.

Dart: _What_? Would someone get that book away from her? She'll never get anything done at this rate!

Garren: We tried.

Dart: …and?

Garren: She bit Zion. I'm not sure, but I think she might be rabid.

Dart: Oh, for the love of…

_This Chapter has been brought to you by lots and lots of Creed and J-rock Because everything's easier with J-rock. Hope everyone's ready for some extreme POV changing, because the second half is crazy in that respect. Nar-dee-har._

In other news, I managed to get this chapter posted in time. Amazement? Yes.

* * *

_The wind thundered in his ears, tearing at his hair and clothing with its thousand icy claws as it whipped past, freezing his exposed skin and chilling him to the bone. His body was a mass of cuts and bruises, inflicted during his short, ugly brawl with the Golden Dragoon. The sharp pain of the wounds created a burning counterpoint to the numbing cold, flaring angrily whenever he shifted his weight or tried to turn his head. It was immediate and distant at the same time, as though he were feeling it all through a mind-numbing anesthetic. Lazily, he turned that particular fact over in his mind, though that too, came as though through a thick fog. The sun had long since set, and the landscape below had changed from what he remembered seeing last before he had closed his eyes. The Evergreen Forest, inky dark without the moonlight to illuminate it, stretched for miles in every direction, bordered on its northern edge by the southernmost spur of the Mortal Mountain range. It was impossible to accurately judge how far they had come or for how long they had been traveling, so he assumed that he must have passed out shortly after they had started. The end result of a concussion inflicted when the dragoon had driven him into the mud by the lake, no doubt. He hesitated, his wandering thoughts grinding to a halt as he considered this._

_Concussion. Yes. That's what was going on. Satisfied that he had a good grasp of his current indisposition, he let that particular vein of thought be and returned to his bemused examination of the particulars of his situation._

_He was being carried roughly under the arm of the monstrous dragoon who had seized him from the mud on the lakeshore, his bruised body wrenched around so that he was squeezed up against the creature's side with his head lolling against the pitted breastplate. The word 'monstrous' was fully justified; if he hadn't seen the man beneath it before the transformation, he might not have even recognized him as human. The armor itself only vaguely resembled the others that he had seen in the battle by the dam, and not even that of the Golden Dragoon, easily the largest of those he had seen, came anywhere close to matching it in terms of size. It was unnatural, in more ways than one: in all the history of Endiness, the existence of only seven dragoon spirits had ever been recorded. This… thing… didn't fit. But if there really had been eight dragoons all along, why had this one been absent during the assault on Flanvel… _

_Still limp in the Dragoon's grip, he groaned, the sound lost in the rush of the wind. The Moon Child had promised to heal him in exchange for a few services, but some of the memories still remained. The dreams had fragmented too much of his own memories, she had said, to be able to rid him of the dreams all at once. He would have to continue to return to her, until she found a way to repair his shattered mind for good. Until then the fix was only temporary, and the foreign memories would still be able to slip through at times. It was a far sight better than drowning in them as he had before, but until the dreams were eradicated completely, he felt as though he was draining slowly through a sieve, losing more of himself with each passing day. _

_The haze from the concussion was beginning to fade, chased away by the cold night air beating his face. As the pain from his wounds began to intensify, Slone fidgeted, trying to find a way to ease the pressure on his bruises. Above him, the dragoon glanced down at him once, then went back to pointedly ignoring him, altering the course of their flight slightly further northwest toward a distant range of mountains that had just begun to appear on the horizon. He could see an end to the forest now, where the trees gave way to a vast, hilly plain that ran nearly to the capitol. Deningrad would be in sight soon, he realized._

_The Dragoon seemed to sense the same thing, because their level flight suddenly became a shallow dive, angling steadily lower toward the distant hump on the dark horizon where the rolling grassland gave way to the scantly forested mountains that surrounded the Capitol of Mille Seasu. The air itself seemed to shimmer in a tremulous aura about them as their pace increased; so close to the end of their flight, the Dragoon's impatience had reached its boiling point. Leveling out of the dive, they blasted over the undulating hills and hollows of the field, stirring up the deadened grass to swirl in a confused whirlwind in their wake._

_"Regretting yet?" The dragoon said suddenly, not bothering to look down at him. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead and his jaws tight, staring so intently into the night that it seemed his eyes must burn through the darkness, cutting away the intrusive miles to see the city hidden beyond the endless hills of grass._

_Slone looked up at him once, then let his head fall with a snort._

"_You will soon." If the Dragoon had noticed his indifference, it was obvious he could care less. "When we reach Deningrad, I suggest you stay out of my way. Neither Ayrel nor I have ever been particularly fond of one another to begin with, and she's gone to great lengths to piss me off royally this time. We aren't very patient, and it's a lot faster to go through you than around you. I'd rather you live long enough for my friends to have the chance to deal with you before I do anything permanent." _

_Slone smiled grimly at the cold confidence in his tone. The Dragoon spoke as though the outcome were already decided, but dragoon or no, no one could lightly climb into the ring with a goddess and expect to come out alive._

_Overhead the clouds pressed close together, dark and impenetrable as they choked out the moonlight with their immeasurable bulk. Their heavy stomachs, pregnant with moisture and chill, bulged toward the earth, straining to contain themselves even as the winds shifted; keening through the frigid mountain passes to the west to blow across the land's heart. Below, the earth was a landscape of black and greys, blurred and indistinct without the moonlight to lend it depth. Between earth and cloud raced the dragoon and his captive, following the wind northward as it ran before them, sweeping relentlessly toward the breaking storm that loomed on the dark horizon._

**Solana's POV:**

"You're lying." Zion's said flatly. His voice echoed off of the vaulted walls of the chamber, loosing itself in the darkness over our heads.

Ayrel smiled faintly, though her smooth, girlish face tightened slightly around the eyes. The moon child was still a young woman, hardly older than a girl, but there was a certain suggestion of steel behind her silver eyes that spoke of a will far stronger than that of a woman twice her age. "I think I'm starting to sense a pattern to your protests, Zion. You've used that particular phrase four times in the past fifteen minutes. If you keep repeating yourself, I might start to think you've turned simple."

Zion glared at her, but clamped his mouth shut.

After leaving the battleground by the dam the Moon Child and her mother had taken us in short stages to Deningrad, where they had ushered us into this chamber in the upper levels of the Temple. There they had healed us, one at a time, before drawing away to confer with one another, leaving our questions in the majority unanswered. As promised, there had been several 'guests' awaiting our arrival. A tall, iron haired woman with an aquiline nose, and a plump, bird-eyed mother with her little girl had been brought out before us- under guard, of course. Zion and Mariko, to whom I guessed they were related, had reacted vehemently until the soldiers had drawn their blades in ominous simultation. Now the hostages had been removed, and the pair stayed just inside the circle of the lamplight at the opposite end of the chamber; Mariko sat with Amaya, hood drawn up about her face, while Zion stood nearby, looking uncharacteristically surly. Though he made no move that might endanger the hostages just outside the door, there was an air of belligerence about him, and he kept up a running banter with Ayrel whenever she made an effort to speak.

Ayrel, who walked back and forth among us as she spoke, paused briefly in front of him. "As for your friend… Ry, you called him? How long exactly have you known him now? Two, maybe three months?" She peered up into his eyes, meeting his clouded look with her own expression of composed superiority. "And you think that's enough time to learn everything there is to know about a man?"

Zion remained silent.

Ayrel laughed in a chilling sort of way and turned, looking around the chamber to face each one of us in turn. "What about the rest of you? Do you know your friend well enough to say that he wouldn't try to kill me? Even to the lot of you, it must be painfully obvious that he hates my guts."

"Hating someone and wanting to kill them are two different things," I said stiffly. There was something disconcerting about the way the child spoke. She was enjoying herself, in a perverse sort of way, and her tone swung back and forth between cultured maturity and adolescent snide. It was obvious that she'd been waiting to have this particular argument with someone for quite some time.

She cocked her head slightly, looking directly at me. "Do you think? Hate is a heavy word, Solana. There's a lot of implications tacked on to the end of it, and sometimes the line between hatred and the desire to kill becomes a bit fuzzy. Not that it really matters. He's tried to kill me a half dozen times or so before, so I'd think that his intentions are rather clear." Without looking, she threw one hand back over her shoulder to point at Zion, who had just started to open his mouth. "And don't you even think about calling me a liar again, Zion Damnen."

Once again Zion snapped his mouth shut, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably, eyes flashing daggers. Ayrel's habit of addressing us all by our first names had put us all off balance, more out of the familiar way in which she used them than the fact that she had known them at all.

She resumed her pacing. "If you really feel like pressing the matter, I can show you the records. He's tried to kill me on three or four separate occasions in broad daylight before a number of witnesses." When silence greeted her remark, Ayrel's face flickered briefly with the ghost of a smile. "I don't remember him being too particular about who he cut. You'd be amazed at what one man can do alone with a sword in a dense crowd."

"You're glossing over the particulars, Holy Moon Child." Amaya said quietly. "I've seen those records. It wasn't just one man involved in those assaults. There were two."

Ayrel looked over at her sharply, and then shrugged. "I should have known that you would have looked into it, Captain Soltrane. Incidentally, you do realize that Commander Mychael is here in the city? I understand that he wants to deal with your desertion personally."

She inclined her head slightly. "I would think less of him if he didn't," she replied, her voice filled with a soft edge. Ayrel might try to intimidate her, but for the moment, at least, the prospect of her punishment held no terrors for her. Understanding the message, I straightened my spine. If Ayrel wanted to try to cow us into submission, she had better be prepared for a long haul.

The Child seemed to sense this. Her pacing stopped once again, and she rocked back on to her heels, hooking her thumbs into her belt. "There were two men." She acceded. "You're right. I haven't seen the one for quite some time now; with any luck, he's come to his senses and decided to leave me alone. Maybe he's still out there; who knows. He was never much more than a tool for your friend anyhow. At any rate, he's not important. Your friend… Ry. He's always been at the center of this." She glanced back over her shoulder at Lady Asalla, who sat at the far end of the room in deep concentration. "Mother?"

"Nothing yet, Ayrel. Even he can't cover that much ground this fast."

"I thought so." She paced among us again, her steps light and catlike as she ran a hand back through her hair, adjusting the clip that held it back in a loose tail from her face. Though she was quite obviously female, the wingly girl dressed herself much like a boy. The clip in her hair was the sole concession to her gender, and a fairly trivial one at that. Were it not for the knowledge that she was in many respects the most powerful person in Endiness, she could have been mistaken for a stable hand or tomboy.

"Who is he then?"

I looked over at my husband, surprised. Cai's tone had been suspicious, but his eyes as he watched the Child were speculative. His position when it came to Ry had always been a little ill defined; he had held a wary respect for his ability to slip us in and out of tight situations, but he disliked the man as well as distrusted him. If any of us were to be swayed by what this girl would tell us about Ry, I realized, it would be him.

"Who? Ry?" Ayrel hesitated by a lamp, running one finger around the rim of the glass flue. "That's a complicated question. Really, it's as much _what _as it is_ who_."

"What do you mean?" Zion asked suspiciously.

She sighed. "You really are thick, aren't you?" She said in a disapproving tone of voice. "What have we been arguing about for the past quarter hour? Your _friend_, as you call him, has been trying without success to kill me for the past sixteen years. I'm not the first, and if he has it his way, I certainly won't be the last. He's a vicious killer with a very specific set of targets, and he's been working his way through them as they come with great success for a very long time now. Think, Zion, if you're able to do so. Who on earth could possibly want to kill the Moon Child?"

The room went still as slowly, the implications of her words sunk in. Then Cai spoke quietly, voicing the obvious.

"The Black Monster?"

"Yes."

There was a drawn-out pause, a sort of mass intake of breath as everyone waited to see his reaction. In a particular way, his response would determine what would happen next. When he became set against something, trying to sway Cai could be like trying to talk to a rock, and he _really_ disliked Ry. If he took this chance to stand up against him, things could become difficult. I bit my lip, praying he wouldn't listen.

If Cai had been aware of the worry he was causing, he gave no indication of it. His face was impassive in the warm bath of the lamplight, and his clear green gaze never faltered as he debated, mentally weighing one against the other. He didn't like Ry, but he had no reason to flock to the Moon Child either. Even so…

"That's bull."

My shoulders slackened with relief. I gave my husband a grateful look, but it went unnoticed. His attention was still focused on the Moon Child.

Ayrel folded her arms under her breasts. "You think so?"

He met her eyes evenly. "Ry's an ass," he said bluntly. "And I'd be lying if I said that I liked him. But calling him the Black Monster would be going too far. He might be a bit off in the head, but he's definitely still human." He scratched the back of his neck. "Though I can see where he'd probably scare small children."

Zion barked a laugh, and Amaya afforded a strained smile. "Be nice, dear." I murmured, feeling my stomach turn leaden as the Moon Child's eyes flattened. He glanced at me sideways, giving me a tiny, tight smile.

"Still human?" Ayrel's mouth twisted, and for a moment she didn't seem nearly so pretty as she had before. "And I suppose that's supposed to count for something. From what I've seen, you humans can be a pretty monstrous at times yourselves. But I'm getting distracted. The Black Monster is just a name. People have been trying to flesh it out for centuries with stories and wild descriptions, but the core of it has always stayed the same. The real horror of the Black Monster has always been the atrocities he committed, and when it comes to cold, calculated murder…" She turned slowly, sweeping the room with accusing eyes. "There're few beings that can best a human."

"But the Black Monster has been around for almost twelve thousand years," I interjected. "Even supposing Ry was the Black Monster, it would be impossible for him to have lived for so long."

"Impossible?" She raised an eyebrow. "Flying and touching magic is supposed to be impossible for humans too, and yet just look at the lot of you. This room is filled to bursting with theoretic impossibilities. And all you needed," she said, reaching into her pocket, "was this."

I bit my cheek, trying not to stare at the unresponsive spirit gleaming dully in her hand. She had taken the dragoon stones off of us immediately we had arrived, just, she had said, as a precaution, but even so, I felt vulnerable without mine. My own skill with weapons was still little better than mediocre at best, and until now, I'd relied on my spirit to see me through our battles. I had no illusions as to how little use it would be against the Moon Child, but still, I would have felt safer had she allowed us to keep them.

At the base of the nearest lamp, Kaelin spoke up for the first time since Aska and Peolin had been taken away. "But the spirits can't extend life. And even if they could, Ry doesn't have a spirit anymore. His rejected him years ago."

All eyes snapped on to her. This was something she'd failed to mention before.

"Mm, yes. But there're other things in this world than the dragoon spirits, you know." Ayrel paused, considering. "Tell me, have any of you ever heard of Dart Feld?"

"Of course." Kaelin gave her and odd look. "Who hasn't? But what does he have to do with this?"

Ayrel ignored her. "Solana, you're fairly well read. Would you mind telling us what you know about Feld?"

"I'm sorry… Moon Child," I said. "But I agree with Kaelin. I don't see what this has to do with Ry."

She smiled frostily. "Humor me."

I swallowed, recognizing the threat in that smile. "Dart Feld," I said carefully, not taking my eyes from Ayrel's face, "was the leader of the dragoons who fought during the Cygnet Crisis over eight hundred years ago. The whole affair was very well documented, as were the lives of most of the dragoons in the years that followed. He settled in Seles immediately afterward, and then disappeared some years later after the death of his wife. He was obsessed with the Black Monster in his youth, so the general belief is that after losing his wife he returned to his hunt."

"Very good," Ayrel murmured. "I don't suppose you could tell everyone what it was that happened just after his disappearance?"

I strained my memory, trying to remember. It had been some time since I had last picked up a book on the topic, and my recollections were a bit sketchy a best.

"The Black Monster made a reappearance." I said haltingly, waiting for the facts to come back to me. "Twenty seven years after it had already made its most recent assault on the Moon Child. It was the only recorded instance of the pattern ever breaking in over eleven thousand years. It's never happened again since." I bit my lip. "Where are you going with this?"

Ayrel ignored me. "Dart disappears," she said, "and the Black Monster reappears. Strange sort of coincidence, isn't it?"

"Excuse me," Zion interrupted acidly, "but what's your point? He's dead, and Ry's not. Sort of hard to match up, isn't it?"

The Child gave him a scathing look. "Solana, would you care to tell me the exact date of Feld's death? The lives of the dragoons were all very well documented, so I'm sure you must have run across it at some point or another."

I started to open my mouth, then stopped, realizing the point that she was trying to make. The death of Dart Feld had never actually been recorded. It was a small mystery that had been puzzling history scholars for centuries now.

She smiled thinly. "Interesting. He was the most revered hero of his time, and yet no one bothered to take a note concerning the details of his death. Someone slipped up somewhere, I think."

Kaelin fidgeted uncomfortably. "All right… Ayrel. But even if we were to pretend that Ry and Dart Feld really are the same person, there's still an eight hundred year gap between them. No one could possibly live that long."

"Not naturally, no." Ayrel spun the dragoon spirit in her fingers idly. "But as I said, there are ways. In the time of the winglies, before the Dragon Campaign, there existed a magical art with the capability to freeze personal time. Life could be preserved in a single, endless moment, but at a great cost to the user." With a flourish, she pocketed the stone. "The knowledge of the art was largely lost after the fall of the winglies. Only two examples of it still survive. One is an entire city, hidden in the sands of the western deserts. The other… is a woman's choker."

A chill ran down my spine.

"Of course, what possible reason could Feld have for wanting something like that?" She continued. "Without a purpose to sustain them, the wearer of that choker would eventually corrode from the inside out. Men make much of it, but eternal life without a point is a heavy burden for the soul to bear. Feld would never have touched something like that." She paused. "At least, not on his own initiative."

No one was interrupting her now. Her words were absurd, and had she spoken about any other person, none of us would have even bothered to listen. But somehow her story could be connected with Ry, and the mystery with which he had surrounded himself had hung over us every step of the journey through Tiberoa and over the seas to Mille Seasu. He had deliberately left too much hanging, too much unsaid. And now, with nothing solid to throw in the face of her arguments, we were being drawn in, wondering how she could possibly think these two men could be connected.

"Around the same time that the dragoons were pursuing the man responsible for the theft of the cygnets, the king of all dragons, the Divine Dragon, broke free from his mountain prison where the ancient winglies had sealed him during the reign of the dictator Melbu Frahma. The Divine Dragon is by nature a creature of mindless hate and destruction, and he took out his fury on the city of Deningrad, which had in the dim past been a wingly stronghold. As you can imagine, this rather distressed the townspeople, so the dragoons were forced to take steps. They found a way to limit the dragon's power and were able to slay him, but as fate would have it, someone managed to procure the monster's spirit, thus creating the spirit of the Divine Dragoon. Eventually this came back into the hands of the dragoons, and Dart, who had since been abandoned by the red-eye spirit, was recognized as its bearer.

"After their journeys had ended, the dragoons returned to their homelands, and for the most part, the spirits were left to gather the proverbial dust." Ayrel inclined her head slightly in my direction. "Solana here has already enlightened us as to the major points of Dart's life up to this point, so I won't bother going into detail about that. But several years after his wife's death, he made a rather startling discovery concerning the nature of his dragoon spirit. Each of the spirits have a certain, low-level awareness in order to forge a bond with their bearer, but the spirit of the Divine Dragon is completely conscious, and has a powerful mind and will of its own. The dragon is malicious, and even in death, bitterly resents all life and the living."

Ayrel was pacing quickly now, weaving in and out around us as she spoke. "The world's need for Feld had ended with the Cygnet Crisis, and with the death of his wife, all purpose had gone from his life. For the first time, he was lost and without direction. The dragon knew this, and made him an offer. He would give him back his purpose and lend him his power- in exchange for his heart, his body, and his mortality. In his desperation, Feld accepted. And so, when the spirit of the Moon Child, disturbed from its natural course by the events of the Crisis, returned to the earth in the body of an infant, Feld and his dragon were there to greet it- sword in hand."

"Wait a minute," Kaelin cut in sharply. "That doesn't match up. Why in hell would Dart turn around and become the Black Monster, after he spent his whole life hunting it? The Monster destroyed his hometown. Purpose or none, I can't see him changing his views so suddenly." She narrowed her eyes. "There's something else to this, isn't there? And how could he even become the Black Monster in the first place? That thing's been kicking around since the Dragon Campaign, and there was never any evidence to suggest that he, or anyone, ever managed to kill it."

"That's true," I added. "The destruction of the Black Monster would have granted anyone instant fame and a seat in any of the noble houses. Its death wouldn't have gone over quietly."

Ayrel looked from one of us to the other in consternation as one by one, the others began to add their sentiments. She had the look of someone who very suddenly had had their plans go awry.

"Look," she said, trying to regain some control over the situation, "I don't know what happened to the original monster; for all I know it could have been another dragoon, but-"

"How are you going to create the Utopia?" Kaelin asked suddenly.

Ayrel glanced at Kaelin, caught off guard. "What?"

"Are you going to create our Utopia of this world," she said quietly, "or are you going to have to destroy us to make way for a new one of your own?" Her eyes were intent, and there was a particular probing quality to her question.

"Ayrel!"

"Utopia?" Ayrel stared. "I think you've been reading too many of the old stories. I… don't know anything about creating a… Utopia."

"_Ayrel!_" Asalla grabbed her daughter's shoulder. "He's reached the city outskirts. It's time." There was a slightly wild look to her eyes, and she shot Kaelin a frightened, almost angry look.

Ayrel blinked, then shook her head. "Took him long enough. All right. Mother, would you take them up to the upper hall? The entire southern wall is mostly glass, so they should be able to watch quite safely from up there. Send Father down here too while you're at it. I have something I want to talk to him about."

"You're going to use it?" She asked, almost anxiously.

Her daughter shook her head. "Not just yet. If we bring it out too soon, it might scare him off. Besides, I think it might be fun to let him think that in spite of everything he's managed to get the upper hand- at least for a little bit." She glanced around the room, and then shrugged. "I'm sorry that we didn't get to finish our talk, everybody, but if you didn't believe me in the first place, it would be pointless to sit and argue with you all night. At any rate, you're about to see for yourselves that what I told you is true. Who knows; maybe I'll let him live long enough for him to confess the truth to your faces."

"As if." Zion glared at her back as she left the room. "Cocky, isn't she?"

Asalla, eyes on her daughter, acted as though she hadn't heard. Worry was evident on her face; she, at least, didn't seem to share Ayrel's absolute confidence in her abilities. But as the door swung shut she composed herself once more, straightening her dress and pushing her long hair back over her shoulder. "We don't have much time, I'm afraid. If you'll follow me, I will show you where you can watch safely. Things are liable to become noisy, so it would be better if we stay well out of the way." She hesitated, then gave Zion a pointed look. "You might as well give up on the idea of slipping off while my back is turned, Mr. Damnen. I _won't_ let you, and in any case, your friend and her little girl are still enjoying the hospitality of the Dread Knights. My husband may not care what happens to them, but I'm not about to let them die because you decide to play the hero."

Zion blanched slightly. "Don't worry about it."

"I should hope not." Asalla turned away, re-arranging the shawl looped loosely around her elbows. "Well then, hurry along. We haven't much time."

**Dart's POV:**

The rain started to fall just as we reached the fringes of Deningrad; a chill, unpleasant drizzle that pattered on the steep rooftops of the houses as we descended slowly through the bank of resinous wood smoke that hung over the sleeping city like a blanket. I circled the area once, then, when I was certain that no one was around, set down carefully in the dark mouth of a broad alleyway.

My armor vanished with a hiss as my feet hit the ground, and I let Trebara slid limply from my grip. He slumped to the cobblestones, lying dazedly on his side while I looked around, re-orienting myself. Cradled in a low valley between two mountains, Deningrad's builders had been forced to make the most of the limited space as the city had built up. As a result, the outer fringes of the city were a confused maze of cramped streets and looming, narrow buildings meant to house several families at once. Here and there were slightly broader, straighter avenues that led to the more spacious city center, but for the most part the infrastructure was a tangled knot of back streets and alleyways.

I stepped out into the street, turning slowly. The chimney smoke had masked the city as I had flown in, and while I had a vague idea of where I should be, anything beyond that was sketchy at best.

(Ark?)

((She's in the temple)) He said flatly. ((I could feel her almost as soon as you reached the outskirts))

(She's not trying to hide herself?)

((Obviously. I don't like this, Dart. This whole thing screams 'trap'. She couldn't have made it more obvious if she'd painted a sign and rubbed it in our faces))

(I know) I narrowed my eyes, squinting into the gloom. The blackened streets glistened with moisture, reflecting the ruddy firelight from a pair of hissing torches set in iron brackets outside of a dim tavern opposite me. Beyond that the street was dark, the only other lights coming from high in the upper windows of the towering houses pressing in around us, too high for their glow to reach the streets.

((Can you track the spirits?))

With some effort, I sent out the thought. In a moment the trails came back, three warm threads winding off into the darkness. (Yes. Ayrel probably has them by now though. What do you think she'll do with the others?)

((Don't worry about that for the moment)) I could feel Ark reaching out, searching as well. ((Grab Trebara and lets get going. There's no way we can hope to surprise her now))

In spite of the guiding pull of the spirits, it still took us some time to find our way through the city. One wrist clamped firmly in my left hand, Trebara followed without protest. He didn't seem fully aware of what was happening, and his eyes were slightly dazed as he stumbled along in my wake. Ark had touched his mind once more since leaving the forest, and hadn't liked what he had found. When he had tried to erase his memories one before in the Alphine manor, he had found that there was nothing for him to work with. Now his thoughts were intact, or close to it. Ayrel's touch hung over him like a fog; whatever it was that had happened to cure him, she had been involved. Ark had been particularly sour on that point. The last thing we wanted was to be dragging around someone who owed Ayrel a favor.

The wood smoke began to disperse as the drizzle became a light rain, driven in sheets by the gusting wind. Overhead, patches of cloudy sky could be seen through the shifting smoke, heavy and black as they rolled sluggishly over the city. The Moon was hidden completely from view; absently, I wondered whether that would be considered good luck or bad.

((Let's call it good)) Ark muttered. ((If we're going to make it through this in one piece, we're going to need all of the luck that we can get))

The narrow back roads gave way to the more spacious, better-lit streets of the inner city. These were all but deserted; though it was only an hour or two after nightfall, only a handful of people were still out and about, their cloaks pulled up over their heads to protect them from the cold rain. Then the track of the spirits took a sudden turn, and I found myself standing on the broad avenue that stretched across the breadth of the city, running from the north end of the valley to the south. At my back, far across the valley, the steeply angled towers of the Crystal Palace rose gracefully from amid the sea of surrounding rooftops, glimmering faintly in the glow of the muted city lights. Before me, the body of the Temple of the Moon Child reared to the skies, dwarfing the narrow, spindly buildings that crowded against its outer walls. Its shape was vaguely reminiscent of that of the Royal Palace, and it seemed to stare possessively out over the city, its windows like a host of vacant eyes. The two buildings faced each other over the length of the avenue, an unspoken challenge in a battle that had long since been lost. The Crown of Tiberoa had slid in and out of the Temple's control a number of times over the past century or so, and once more, the Temple again had it at their fingertips.

I didn't glance back. The avenue ran through an archway into the walled plaza before it; it literally ended at the Temple's doorstep.

I smiled thinly, feeling my blood begin to race. The anger I had felt initially leaving the forest had faded, leaving only a dull remnant. It was always better to go into a battle with a cool head anyhow. "End of the road."

Ark grunted in agreement. ((Took long enough)) he commented dryly. ((Unfortunately, until you regain the energy to fuel it, the spirit is going to be out of the question))

(I know) I looked up at the temple. (I don't think it would make much difference, though. They're in there somewhere, and I'd probably end up wrecking the place if I started trying to hit Ayrel with a shot from the cannon. She's planned this rather well)

((You're better off as human, then. You're more agile in your own body anyhow))

I laughed a bit half-heartedly. (This would be a good time to surprise me if you have any tricks hidden up your sleeve. I'm really not liking the circumstances here)

((You'll have to live with it, Dart. I think I know a way, but I'd rather not try it unless I absolutely have to. It's dangerous to begin with, and you'd have to be unconscious for it to work for sure)) He sounded almost apologetic.

(I'll keep that in mind) I replied. (I'd take almost anything to level the field at the moment)

((I don't think you'd say that if you knew what I have in mind))

(Then don't tell me. Frankly, Ark, I couldn't care less what you have in mind. As long as it works, everything's fine, right?)

He said nothing.

I sighed. (Look, if it makes you feel any better, I give you full permission to do… whatever it is)

((As if I needed your permission!)) He bristled.

I grinned. (See? I'm feeling better already) I glanced back at the stoic Trebara, then shrugged. (Well, no point in putting things off any longer. We're keeping the princess waiting)

**Ayrel's POV:**

When I finally left father, I found Dart already waiting in the plaza before the temple. This was a surprise. I'd expected him to try to find another way in to try to gain some small sort of advantage. Him waiting openly in the street was an unexpected display of honesty that was, for once, completely unwelcome. I'd seriously been hoping that he'd cause some trouble; it would put on a better show for the dragoons. A little disappointed, I shut the temple door firmly behind me and walked out to meet him.

"You must be getting old, Dart." I told him when I was near enough. "Whatever happened to roaring up to the temple, all guns blazing? I suppose that there's some charm to a quiet entrance, but couldn't you have done something a bit more flamboyant?"

"I had my hands tied," he said dryly. He jerked his head back over his shoulder. Captain Trebara sat slumped in the shadow of the arched gateway, apparently unconscious. "You shouldn't leave your trash lying around where it doesn't belong, Ayrel. It's inconsiderate."

I sighed in mock disappointment. "And here I thought that we might be able to be civil to each other. You're a terrible letdown when you put your mind to it, do you know that?"

"I try my best. Though I have to say…" he looked around, raising one eyebrow. "A street, surrounded by a couple of walls. Maybe a gate. Seems a little weak for a trap, doesn't it?"

"Who said anything about traps?" I replied airily. "You're too suspicious, Dart. All I want is for you to put on a good show." I gestured with one hand at the temple behind me, its monolithic face studded with windows of every shape and size. "I went through all that trouble of bringing your friends here. You don't want to disappoint them too, do you?"

Dart glanced up, his eyes settling on a wide arched window perhaps halfway up the Temple face. They narrowed, and then his face turned wooden. "I see," he said finally. "So that's what you've got planned."

"Pretty much." I shrugged, smiling in a good-natured sort of way. "It's really for their own good, you know. Now, why don't you just get on with things and use your dragoon spirit? I'm sure the suspense must be ready to kill them by now."

He stared up at the temple for a moment longer before he shifted, sliding into a long stance. His sword made a silken whisper as it slid from its sheath, and he grasped the hilt firmly as he lifted it to shoulder height. The naked blade gleamed wetly in the rain. "I can't, I'm afraid."

For the first time, I felt a flicker of irritation. "You're being stupid, Dart. You know you don't have a chance without it, so why bother? You'll have to sooner or later anyhow."

"I'm drained, Ayrel. I couldn't even if I wanted to."

The irritation snapped. "Even if you wanted to? You're going to have to let them see sooner or later, Dart." I said hotly. "They already know the truth. Why draw it out any longer?"

"Why?" He lifted the sword slightly, giving me a steady look. "Why not? I've been with them for quite a while, Ayrel, and I know how cynical they can be. I'll have some explaining to do when I get them out of here, but until then, I think that they'll go on believing what they want to believe, whatever you told them. They're a stubborn lot, that way."

Impassively, I hurled a fireball at him. He sidestepped, shaking his head as it burst on the cobblestones beside him.

"Temper, Ayrel. If you don't watch it, you'll end up looking like the bad guy. We can't have that, can we?"

Pulling the dragon buster from my belt, I thumbed it on. The blade ignited in a tongue of flame, writhing and dancing as it condensed and became something like solid. "Dart," I told him sweetly, "if you don't activate your spirit this instant, I'm going to have to force you."

"Trust you to want the impossible." The evil length of his blade glinted wetly, and suddenly he lunged forward with a roar, closing the distance between us in two great leaps.

The world flickered, and abruptly I was at his back, drawing on my power as I reached out to seize his shoulder as his blade cut through the empty air where I had stood. The focused energy blazed down through my arm, bursting from my palm in a great gout of flame, emphasized by a sharp detonation that resounded throughout the square. With a cry of pain Dart stumbled forward, going down to one knee even as he twisted, slicing back at me with his blade. It grazed my open hand and I recoiled back, clenching my fingers tightly around the stinging wound.

Dart started to his feet and I dropped the dragon buster, raising my good hand towards him threateningly. He froze, his eyes flicking warily from my hand to my face.

"So that's how it's going to be, then." He said, lifting his sword again. Steam was rising off of the charred fabric on his shoulder, but if the burn was causing his arm any pain, he wasn't about to let it show.

My palm tingled as I charged a new spell, more forcefully this time. "The spirit, Dart. Use it!"

He dove sideways as I let it go; the air crackled as a bar of white-hot light split the stones where he'd been an instant before. I jerked my hand back and grabbed the dragon buster, teleporting across the plaza to intercept him. A bad move; the instant I reappeared he was on me, rain streaming from the edge of his blade as he swung it two-handed, trying to batter my sword out of my grip. My arm numb from the shock of the blows, I let his blade slide off of mine again and again as I dodged sideways, trying to put some distance between us. One particularly strong blow knocked me back several steps; before Dart could close the distance, I raised one hand and hurled another fireball. He swept it away with his sword, but the second one hit home, colliding violently with his hip. They were hastily formed, and far from the strength they could have been, but they were enough; his leg buckled as he came after me, and blood was mixing with the rainwater dripping off of his clothes onto the stones. Still…

He feinted to the left, then flicked his blade to the right, locking against the hilt of the buster as I moved to block. Distracted by the sword, I never even saw him swing his fist.

Stars exploded in my vision as it connected with the side of my head, and I was knocked from my feet. I'd lost my grip on the dragon buster; I caught a glimpse of Dart shaking it free of his own sword as I rolled over coming onto my hands and knees. Desperately, I jerked in my will and teleported to the opposite side of the square. There, I was able to stagger to my feet, still shaking off the effects of the blow.

I touched my hand to one side of my face gingerly. _'Healing.'_ I fed a little bit of power into the spell, but not too much. I had enough energy to continue casting spells for quite a while yet, but there was no sense in using more than I had too. The pain lessened, and I blinked, able to see clearly again.

"You shouldn't be running, Ayrel." Dart was crossing the square slowly, breathing heavily. Beneath his coat his clothes were sodden from the blowing rain, and his shirt was stained with blood from a shallow cut across his ribcage. He held a sword in either hand, the dragon buster hissing and spitting in the downpour. "Sooner or later, you're going to get caught."

**Dart's POV:**

"Sooner or later, you're going to get caught."

It was sheer bravado on my part. This fight was over; I'd known it from the moment I wrested the Dragon Buster from her grasp, hoping for a chance to land a finishing blow. But she had escaped, and in taking her sword I'd done exactly what I had hoped to avoid and forced her into a position where she would have to use her magic. Steeling myself, I continued to walk slowly towards her through the rain, one step at a time.

"Is that so," she said coolly. Her back was against the wall, but she seemed to have recovered somewhat. "The spirit, Dart. You must be able to use it by now."

"Sorry. It's really taking its time rousing itself tonight for some reason." I stopped and looked around, for the first time noticing the biting chill that was slowly seeping though my layers of wet clothing. "Beautiful weather we're having, isn't it?" I remarked.

"Stunning," she replied flatly. She lifted both hands toward me, palms outward. "This is your last chance, Dart. Activate your spirit."

I felt the particular prickling sensation at the base of my skull, like needles tapping into my brain, as she gathered the energy for the spell. My wounded leg gave a sharp pang. There would be no evading this one. Clenching both swords tightly in my hands, I lunged forward toward her, knowing it was useless.

(Ark?)

((Yeah?))

(Unconscious, you said?)

The prickling became a spear point. For a moment I thought I heard a rushing sound; then the world dissolved around me in a blur of pain and black.

**Mariko's POV:**

"NO!"

Kaelin pressed her face against the glass, horrified. Far below, in the center of the courtyard, Ry fell back onto the bloodstained cobbles. As the others crowded against the window around me, I could only stare. Ayrel's spell had been all but invisible- to my eyes it had seemed nothing more than a powerful wind sweeping the plaza- but the pressure in the air as she had released it had been immense. And Ry had been caught in the center of it…

His face pale, Zion turned away from the vast window to stare at Asalla, who stood back from us a ways, watching with her husband. "He's a monster, is he?" He said in a sick tone, his voice shaking slightly. "Is that what you want us to think?"

Asalla looked over at her husband. Mathis was carefully re-wrapping a heavy piece of driftwood in burlap cloth, looking a tad disappointed. "He resisted using it," she murmured. "I wonder if he knew…?"

"HEY!" Zion grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. "What sort of sick trick is this?" He demanded. "He wasn't trying to kill her! He was here for us!"

"Mister Damnen!" Mathis said sharply, "Restrain yourself! Do not forget, we have your friend and her daughter just outside! There's already been one death tonight! Do not bring it upon yourself to be the cause of another!"

Zion's mouth worked silently, his face white with fury. "You…. _You_…" Behind him, Cai stepped away from the window to back him up, his face grim.

My ear was ringing. I frowned and shook my head absently, too numb from what I had just seen to give it much thought. Then I clasped my head as the ringing became a soundless roar, seeming to shake the air itself with a violent energy. I screwed my eyes shut, hearing Asalla suddenly gasp.

"_Mathis!_"

"Look!" Amaya said sharply. There was a rush as everyone hurried back to the wide window. I pushed in between Zion and Solana, an impossible hope rising in my throat. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust once more to the dim light, but…

Down in the courtyard, Ayrel was not alone. Slowly, incredibly, Ry was getting to his feet.

**Ragnarok's POV:**

He was dying.

Even as I shoved his faltering mind aside, I could feel his systems shutting down one at a time, unable to cope with the trauma Ayrel's last attack had inflicted on his body. Blood began to pool around his inert body, dark and steaming on the frozen cobblestones as his limbs slowly began to go numb.

(Dart!) I jostled him, willing him to stay conscious. (_Dart!)_

For an instant, it seemed that he might. Then, sluggishly, his mind began to darken. Lying on my back on the stones, I felt blood fill my throat and I coughed weakly to clear it, feeling the convulsions rack my body. (Hang on!) I jostled him hard, trying to shock him into alertness. (Damn it Dart, _hang on!_ )

He wavered, on the brink. And then with a sigh he started to slip out of reach, fading slowly into the darkness.

It was then, in that endless moment that separated his life from oblivion that I felt it. For one fraction of a second, with nothing left to sustain it, the resistance Dart's mind had always harbored against my power trembled and weakened, wavering like grass in the wind. Without thinking, without hesitating, I hurled myself at with everything that I possessed. Unable to withstand the assault, the wall shattered like glass under the force of my mind.

Dart's body jerked painfully as my power suddenly filled him to bursting, overflowing. The darkness evaporated, taking the threat of death with it. Dart's mind stirred feebly against my own, then stilled. Unconscious. But alive.

Suppressing my own elation, I took control of the flow of power, cutting it off before it could overload his system completely. But the timer had started ticking; I had a minute, two at the most, before the flow became too much for his body to handle. And he was in hard enough condition as it was… Hurriedly, I began to feed a small bit of power into his body, forcing the wounds to knit themselves closed, refueling his exhausted muscles. The wounds covering my body began to burn and sting, in something that was almost, but not quite, real healing.

"So you refused to use it after all." Ayrel's voice floated out of the darkness. "Idiot. I didn't think you'd go down that easily." She almost sounded regretful.

The pain faded from my body. I rolled over, and slowly got up, swaying slightly. Just a little bit more…

"You can still stand? Amazing." Ayrel came to a stop before us, the dragon buster disengaged and hanging loose at her belt once more. "Why do you even bother? You're beaten, Dart. I could end everything with one swing, if even that." She sounded curious, but I could hear the gloat underlying the words. "Well, Feld? Any last words?"

Slowly, deliberately, I lifted my head, meeting her gaze eye for eye. Watched her give a start, confusion giving way to slow realization as she recognized the change.

The corner of my mouth twitched into a contemptuous smirk, water and blood flowing freely down my face.

"Brat."

She flinched as though I had struck her across the face, and in that split second I reached out to my own power, feeling the flow, remembering... and seizing it, I flexed my mind experimentally, much in the way that I had seen Zion flex his shoulders before drawing his sword.

The shockwave that followed blasted Ayrel back a clear ten feet, sending her rolling across the ground like a rag doll; the air cracked like a bullwhip as it rushed in to fill the invisible scar left in the wake of the strike.

I felt a grin spreading across my face as she rolled over, struggling back to her feet, recovering from the surprise. True, I had hit her while her defenses were down. But still, not bad. Keeping an eye on the stunned girl I began drawing my power, inward focusing it again. Closing my eyes, I breathed in deeply. No limitations; neither the forcefully imposed ones set by Dart or the natural restrictions that my natural dragon form had always set upon me. Eight hundred years was far too long to miss something like this.

Breathing out, I opened my eyes in time to see Ayrel activate the dragon buster, a tongue of forged flame in the semi-gloom. Stooping, I picked up my own sword from where it lay in a pool on the cobbles. The time was ticking away, and yet…

I released my power, letting it rage through me and down into the cold sword in my hand. The blade seemed almost to shiver as the energy thrilled through it, setting the crystalline runes alightwith a wintry fire.

Suddenly, I felt much better about this.

**Ayrel's POV:**

Ragnarok.

Dart had been down. Beaten. His body had been a mess, torn and bloody from my last spell. And yet the dragon was forcing him to his feet, dragging him back from the brink of death.

How could I have missed it? Power emanated from him like a cold wind sweeping the stones of the courtyard, searing my mind like something between an acid bath and an electric shock. It distorted the air, rippling and shimmering until it seemed that the energy itself must be visible.

Slowly it ebbed...then gusted in a powerful blast as Ragnarok exhaled suddenly, laughing. I raised one hand automatically to shield my face and braced myself as the wave of power broke against me, battering against my body like a gale. Was this really his power? Free from the restraints and restrictions of the dragoon armor, this raw unfettered energy... was this the true ability of the Divine Dragon?

Once again the tide of power diminished, only to gather itself about the wounded human body he used, focusing. Like a beast, coiling its muscles to pounce. Slowly, water running down the back of his wrist, Ark picked up his sword from where Dart had dropped it on the cobbles. Wiping the blood from his forehead with the back of his free hand, I was not entirely surprised to see the gash healing slowly, a bitter, festering red as it sealed itself closed.

"Ayrel!" He lifted the sword, pointing it at me with a dreadful grin. "We end this!"

Power lashed out at me, striking me across the face like a whip. Staggering back, I forced it away with my own- then raised the dragon buster just in time to catch Ragnarok's blade as it split the night, slicing at my head. The two blades met in a shower of sparks; my arms buckled, unable to hold it. Panicking, I turned my mind against him, pushing back with every once of power I could muster, only to have it swallowed up in his.

The resistance broke; his power smashed against me, sending me sprawling across the stones. I rolled to my feet, then dove out of the way as his sword drove into the cobbles, the stones splitting apart under the force of the attack. A dim haze seemed to surround the blade, an icy nimbus that writhed like cold fire in the darkness. He had joined his power with the weapon?

Again it surged; this time I was able to block it, if just barely. Focusing, I drew myself up to counter, but his power swelled over me, smothering the attack before I could even begin to form the spell. Suddenly nauseous, I leapt aside just in time to avoid his sword again. Stone shattered, filling the air with shards. Not knowing what else to do, I turned and fled.

There was no reason to it. There were no spells. Only an impossible power, a raw force that repulsed or destroyed everything it touched. One after another, I tried every spell I could think of- only to have them inevitably swallowed up by that dreadful power.

_'For the love of Soa, where is father?'_

I slid; at some point, unnoticed, the rain had turned to sleet, coating the avenue's surface with an oily slick that was worse than ice. Scrabbling, I struggled to find my footing, then lost it. I went down hard, sliding across the road even as I tried to get back to my feet, off and running again.

And then Ragnarok was there, swooping down upon me as though the slick had no effect. His feet skidded slightly; whirling, he swung at me again, his saturated, shredded clothing flying out behind him as he moved.

I raised my weapon, only to have it knocked from my hands. I had fallen, I realized, and I backed up on my elbows as he stood over me, dark and terrible with his power raging around him. For a brief instant, I recalled that moment in the valley of corrupted gravity where things had been so much the same, except that then I had found a way out. Now, staring up into his cold, triumphant eyes, I knew there was none.

He lifted his blade one final time, sleet and rain water trickling down its burning edge. "Remember what I told you, Ayrel." His eyes narrowed, and his power seemed to retract, focusing within his sword. "Never wound what you mean to kill!"

I closed my eyes as the blade fell.

The blow never came.

"Tsch…"

I cracked open one eye. Captain Trebara stood over me, blood dripping down his neck from where Ragnarok's blade had buried itself in his shoulder. He grunted, his feet sliding slowly from beneath him as he collapsed to the ground next to me, coughing. "Heh… heh…"

Was he actually laughing?

Ragnarok muttered an oath, lifting his blade once more. But even as he did so there was a sudden flash of green and father appeared in the air behind him, the weathered length of the dragon block staff clutched tightly in his hands. Before Ragnarok could move he swung hard, breaking the glass globe of the staff against his head.

The dragon stiffened. For an instant I thought that nothing had happened; then slowly, like a candle stuttering in the wind, his power died. And with a sound that was something between a snarl and a whimper, the Divine Dragon collapsed at my feet.

**Kaelin's POV:**

In the courtyard, Ry slumped to the ground for the second time in less than five minutes. This time, however, he didn't rise again.

The chamber was filled with a stunned silence, broken only by the sound of Asalla's hysterical weeping. No one spoke; even if we had been able, what would we say? What we had seen was impossible. He had been dead, or as good as. And then, in moments, he had…

I looked away, unable to watch any longer. _'The Black Monster. Damn it Ry, is that what you really are?'_

_"We're all monsters on the inside, Kaelin. It's what makes us human."_

I suppressed a groan, finally seeing the truth. He had as good as told me as much in Solana's manor back in Tiberoa. How had I been so blind?

Once Asalla had regained control of herself somewhat, she went to the door, commanding a detachment of guardsmen to see us to the holding cells under the temple. Too numb to protest, we did as we were ordered and allowed ourselves to be taken through to the lower levels. There the guardsmen divided us among three cells and left us, alone in the semi-darkness with only a single lamp to cast any light.

The silence stretched. No one seemed to be willing to speak; the memory of what we had just seen was too unreal and vivid all at the same time.

Finally, Solana spoke. "What was that?" She asked, her voice subdued

"Who knows?" Zion said miserably. "I don't know what to think any more. The Moon Child is full of it- she has to be… but…"

"Ordinary people don't hurl others around without touching them, Zion," Cai growled. "I'm starting to think she was telling us the truth."

"Yeah, right." Zion glared at him. "You would be the first to say something against him, wouldn't you?"

"Don't be an idiot!" Cai snapped. "We all saw what happened. You can't deny it!"

"He's not trying to," Amaya interjected smoothly. "And Zion, calm down, okay? Cai's got a point. No one seems to have been telling the truth, lately."

Solana shook her head. "It just all seems so… wrong. He always seemed so ordinary."

That one hung in the air for a moment.

"Well, okay. Maybe not ordinary," she corrected, "but I never would have thought that he was in to something like this. Right, Kaelin?"

I hesitated, leaning against the grille. What should I say?

"Well, actually…"

I stopped at the sound of footsteps. Two guardsmen entered, Ry slung between them, half-dragged, half-carried. My breath caught in my throat. Up close, he looked even worse than I had thought him to be. Haggard and exhausted, his whole body trembled and spasmed, as though caught in the grip of some unimaginable horror. His clothes were in tatters, and seeping half-healed wounds, livid and scabrous, slashed his arms and torso. Sweat and blood had matted his hair, and his head hung limply, his teeth clenched and grinding as he snarled and whimpered helplessly like a beaten animal.

Almost carelessly, the two guards dragged him into the cell next to us and dumped him unceremoniously onto the stones. He jerked and writhed for a few moments as the guards drew back, but once the door to the cell closed the jerking subsided into a tremor and he lay almost still, breathing hoarsely with his cheek pressed against the cold stones.

Asalla watched this all from the other side of the bars, her face a mask as she instructed the guards to leave. She watched them go; however, when she turned back, the mask had slipped slightly.

"You fool, Ragnarok," she whispered. "You desperate, blind fool."

Her words hung in the dead air, and for a long moment the only sound was that of Ry's labored breathing. Finally, Zion cleared his throat, finding the words.

"What's wrong with him?" He asked quietly, looking back and forth between them. His voice was calm, but in the lamp lightfiltering into the cell I could see that his eyes were disturbed. It had been one thing watching the fight from the window, but to see Ry reduced to such a state...

"He left himself open," Asalla replied, "and the dragon took all that he had to give. His body's been pushed beyond the limits of human endurance, and now it's all but broken." She gazed at him, her eyes troubled. For an instant there might have been pity in her eyes, but if it were it was gone in the next. Then she turned away, her hair streaming gently behind her like a cloak. "He'll live," she said flatly, without turning around. "The pact he made with that accursed dragon will see to that much. But for what strength he'll possess..." She turned at the bottom of the stair, looking back over her shoulder. "He might as well be dead."

* * *

Sorry if there were many typos in this one; I'm a bit tired right now, but I really wanted to get this up tonight. Just let me know, and I'll get around to fixing them.

_If anyone's interested, I finally got around to doing a general artwork (headshots only) of the dragoons and Ayrel. It can be viewed at http/ After the next chapter, I think I'm going to have to take some time and go back through and fix up some details in the past few chapters. There's a load of inconsistencies and such that I never got around to fixing, and really, really need too. Plus there were the obligatory few things that I wrote in intending to use later on, only to have the game plan change and make them pretty much useless and out of context. It's really been irking me lately. Not to mention a general spell check and re-formatting of everything so that it's all the same._


	58. Admissions

Dart: _-hunched over the edge of a table, clutching his head in his hands-_ Arghh… would someone find a way to shut that thing up? She's had that song on for three hours straight!

Zion: _-slumps down opposite-_ Forget it. I spent the last five minutes trying to force my way in through the door. She's got it spiked shut.

Dart: The stupid… how can she stand it? After this long, anything would be better listening than this!

_-Abruptly, the music stops as finally, graciously, the song changes. And then…-_

_'Ma-ia-hiii _

_ma-ia-huu _

_ma-ia-ha _

_ma-ia-ha-ha…'_

Zion: -_Stiffens in his seat-_ …that voice… and those words! Those terrible, terrible words!

Dart: -_slams face into table-_ I take it back! I take it back! _–sobs-_ Anything else! ANYTHING!

Got Numa? XD

Argh. Delays. I'm not even going to talk about it this time. You've all heard me go on long enough before to know that most of my delays, if they can't be chalked up to writer's block, land squarely in the lap of 'technical difficulties'. I seem to get hit with a lot of them, nowadays. But beh. I've already ranted about this on my author's page, so I won't bore the lot of you with it again. In short:

**APPOLOGIES. AGAIN. I'M INCOMPETENT, DAGNABBIT.**

Note: Due to new policy regarding answering reviews during each chapter, I obviously no longer can do so. Anger. So, yes. Much inconveniencing here. To that end, those of you who do not have an account but still have any questions you would like to have answered regarding the chapter/story/whatever will have to email them to me so that I can actually have a way to reply. Arf. So throw things. To say something in favor, I will thank them for making the hit counter and whatnot a part of the normal unpaid accounts. I missed that after I gave up my paid account a few years back. It adds a whole new element to the panicking over late updates when I can see exactly how many people I'm disappointing. Ehehehehhh…. Argh, kick me. Anyway. Back to our irregularly scheduled programming.

**Apologizing in advance for any typos, inconsistencies, junk. I didn't get to proof it well yet, so just stay with me. I'll proof it properly in a day or so.**

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_It was getting colder._

_He lay on his back, staring up at the black clouds clogging the sky overhead while the sleet stung his cheeks, collecting in his hair and freezing his eyelashes. His breath misted and mingled with the steam rising from the gash across his shoulder, swirling slowly until it was lost in the darkness. There was no sound save for the falling sleet; the world had gone silent, leaving him here to lie immobile, unable to move for the fire burning in his shoulder. And it was a fire; the pain burned so badly he might have cried out, if he had been able. But the cold was slowly numbing his senses, and his world had closed in until all he knew were the shiftless clouds and the sickly scent of his blood spreading over the cobbles. _

_He thought he was dying. It seemed to fit; that monster of a man had intended to put his blade through the Child, but he had barely altered his aim when Slone had got between them. They were both gone now, dragged away into the temple at the end of the row. If he strained his eyes almost back into his head he could just see it, looming into the upper reaches of his vision. But it was skewed, and it seemed to twist and waver as he watched. Unable to keep his eyes on it, he shifted his gaze back to the clouds. Even they seemed to twist, but it was difficult to tell with clouds. He blinked, trying to bring his vision back into focus. Why couldn't he see straight?_

_The sleet was starting to fall slower now. Snow? Maybe. It was cold enough. He blinked again, wishing his eyes would focus._

_A face swam into his vision. Someone was standing over him, blurred at the edges as he struggled to lock on to them. For a long moment they did nothing; only stood over him, watching. Then, slowly, they crouched down, holding one hand gingerly over his forehead without touching his clammy skin. For how long they stayed there like that, he wasn't certain, but when the fog that had settled over his consciousness cleared, he was alone once more, lying on his back beside the wall. _

_Carefully, he sat up. At some point the fire in his shoulder had died; when he reached up to touch the wound with shaking fingers he only found scar tissue, smooth and warm. His shirt was torn and stained, and the ground around him was dark with blood, but the wound had disappeared. But his memory…_

_Quickly he sifted through it, trying desperately to recall what was missing. It was patchy, full of gaps where he could recall nothing at all, and yet…whatever had filled those gaps was gone, blessedly removed. _

_His clothes had started to freeze. Getting up, he supported himself with one hand against the wall, not quite trusting his feet. Without a backward glance at the temple he slowly made his way out of the plaza. _

_Overhead, the snow continued to fall. At first the flakes disappeared as they touched the wet, black stones. Then slowly they built up as the slick wet turned to ice, coating the plaza with a glassy sheen that reflected back the muted glow of the lamps hanging beside either side of the doorframe. And then that too was gone, hidden by the patchy white blanket that determinedly hid all traces of the battle that had been fought there only a short time ago. _

_Winter comes quickly to Mille Seasu. _

**Zion's POV:**

"Oh for the love of…" Kaelin tossed away the pin she'd been using to try to pick the lock on her cell. It glinted in the dim glow of the lamplight, and then disappeared into a crack between the flagstones. "These aren't even proper locks," She said in disgust. "The keyhole's a fake!"

"They've been bewitched," Amaya told her. Slumped against the wall at the back of their cell, she'd watched Kaelin's frustrating lack of progress in silence. "The jailors in the Tiberoian prisons sometimes have a wingly in to do something like this. Unless you can break the spell, the only people able to open the lock will be the ones it has been set to recognize. Lock picks won't work. "

"You could have told me before." Kaelin grabbed the lock and tugged on it a few times, making sure.

Amaya shrugged. "I didn't think recognize it until now. Sorry."

"Well this is just brilliant." Kaelin sunk back down onto the floor, looking through the grille into the cell neighboring the one she shared with the former dread knight. "What are we going to do? We can't just let them leave him here like this."

I grunted in agreement. The guards had split us up, two to a cell. Mariko and I shared one, while Solana and Cai had been put into the one next to us. Facing them were Amaya and Kaelin. Directly across from us, and currently the center of attention, was Ry.

He wasn't easy to look at. Covered by the tattered remains of his oilskin jacket, he lay shuddering on his side on the floor, the stones made wet by the rain water and melted sleet dripping from his hair and clothing. Blood matted his hair, and through the rents in his bloodstained clothing could be seen the remains of the fearful wounds Ayrel's spell had dealt him, scabrous and half-healed in the watery light. Exactly _how_ they had begun to heal so quickly, I tried not to think. Soa knew I'd seen enough tonight without having to try to catalogue all the little details. Ry hadn't moved from where the guards had dumped him on the floor, but he still trembled and shook, groaning softly and snarling beneath his breath whenever the tremors reached their peak. For the moment, at least, he was lying quietly on his side, breathing hoarsely with his cheek pressed against the stones. Whether he was aware of what was happening around him, or even if he was completely conscious, was impossible to say.

Not knowing what else to do, I looked down at the stones between my feet. "So what now?" I asked no one in particular.

Cai grunted. "What do you mean, 'what now'? Does it look like we can do anything to you? If you see any way out of this, please, share it with the rest of us."

I tried to shoot him a sideways glare, but couldn't quite manage it. "You know what I mean. Even if we could get out, she's still got Remmy and Tabby and the twins cooped up somewhere in the temple." Just saying thatstung. The Moon Child sure had done her homework there. "Plus, with… Ry…he needs help. Bad."

Across the way, Kaelin sunk down to the floor, her back against the door. "You don't have to say that again. Maybe if we make enough of a racket, someone will come down and help."

Cai sat up. "Kaelin, what in Soa's name makes you think anyone up there will give a damn about how sick he is? They're calling him the Black Monster, you heard them! That Moon Child would like nothing better than to have his head decorating her wall."

"Really. News to me." She gave him a withering look. "Of course she wants him dead! But she wants him dead by her own hand, not dead because some idiot left him in a cell to rot of sickness. Do you really think she'd be satisfied with just that? After all she went through to make sure he'd come? They've got something else planned." She looked down through the bars next to her at Ry, lying prone on the floor. "Whatever it is, they'll want him alive until then. But just leaving him here like this… someone's trying to make him suffer first."

"Something else? An execution?" Solana murmured, more to her self than anyone else. "Why wait? From what we've seen, I didn't think Ayrel would be willing to let things go on any longer than they have to."

Amaya shook her head. "Her father, Mathis. If he gave her reason to wait, she might. He's an arrogant fop with a taste for the elaborate and plays at being a courtier, but he dabbles in politics quite often. Ayrel may not give much thought as to the image she presents to the people and rulers of Endiness, but he does. The cult has a lot of influence over the royal seats, but they still have a lot of opposition in some of the more logical quarters. If they were to execute him publicly, it might give those quarters confidence in the cult by a show of power."

"A show of power?" Solana looked over at Ry. "But he's just one man!"

"They wouldn't be executing him as a man," I cut in quietly. "They'd be executing him as the Black Monster, wouldn't they?"

There was a stiff silence, disturbed only by Ry's broken breathing. Cai glanced over at me uneasily, then looked pointedly in the opposite direction. I stared at the floor. The argument was there, hanging in the air. It just seemed that suddenly no one had the energy to start it anymore.

I wanted to defend Ry. I really did. But even as I tried to find the words, deep down, I knew that Cai was right. There was no denying what had happened, even if we weren't really sure exactly _what_ it was that we had seen. And even if Ayrel had been lying…

_The air split; there was a sound like the crack of a bullwhip as the falling rain surrounding the two sprayed outward, driven aside by some incredible force. Standing almost nose-to-nose with Ry, Ayrel was flung back across the cobblestones as the full force of…of whatever it was caught her full across the chest. She bumped and skidded, rolling over and scrabbling to her feet in stunned amazement even as Ry stooped, reaching down to retrieve his sword…_

_It wasn't a fight. It was a hunt. Whatever magics had given Ayrel her edge before were lost now. The air flickered with strange lights and shapes as spells half-formed and disappeared, swallowed up by something even larger and more terrible as Ry stalked her, lunging across the stones. His sword glinted in the darkness, engulfed in a haze like a blue-white nimbus almost too faint for the eye to see. He wasn't even using it like a proper weapon any more; it had become a steel claw, spraying water and shattered stone alike as it smashed into the cobbles and scythed the empty air, missing Ayrel by inches as she scrambled and slid, trying to escape…_

I rubbed my eyes, staring moodily at a crack in the stones. Lies or not, there was no avoiding the fact that there was something horribly wrong with Ry. I'd be the first one to admit that I'm no genius in the area, but by this time even _I_ could recognize magic when I saw it, just the same as I knew that without a direct aid, there was no way a human could use it under their own power. But Ry, with his usual flair, had gone out of his way to demonstrate that that not only was he the exception to the rule, but that they had probably never even applied to him in the first place. Even Ayrel hadn't been able to give us an answer that could explain that. In the very least, he should have had a dragoon spirit.

I was still mulling this over when Solana spoke up, her voice small and quiet in the shadowy gloom of her cell. "Kaelin?"

"Huh?" Kaelin glanced back at her. "What is it?"

"There was something you said back there's been bothering me. When we were talking to Ayrel, you said that Ry used to have a spirit, but it rejected him. Why? He always told us…"

"…that none of the spirits on the belt were his, I know." Kaelin bit her thumbnail, watching Ry through the bars, without really seeming to see anything. "I don't think he ever actually said that he'd never used any of them. When I first started tagging along with him and Zion… I noticed early on that he's really careful about how he phrases things when he talks about the spirits. He makes it _sound_ like he's never used one, but I don't think he ever really admitted it. Shane does the same thing all the time, so I've got an ear for when people are trying tricks like that. He doesn't actually want to lie to us, so he just doesn't… elaborate. One of them _used_ to be his. But it isn't anymore."

"What?" I blinked, then stared as my mind slowly caught up with the implications of what she'd said. "Wait a minute, he told you this? As in you actually got him to admit it?"

She shrugged. "It wasn't all that hard, really. He already knew I was suspicious about how much he knew about using the spirits, and after I cornered him about something he'd explained to Solana, he gave in and told me. He wasn't happy about it, but I think he knew that I'd just keep on pestering him until he gave something away."

Cai muttered something under his breath. "And you never thought to share any of this with the rest of us?" he said aloud.

Kaelin stopped biting her nail and looked back over her shoulder at him. "Once I got it out of him, it didn't seem so important anymore. It wasn't hurting anyone, and it wasn't some horrible, dark spirit like I'd thought it might be. Besides, the only reason I've every kept after him about anything is because I can't quite figure him out. The spirit was one puzzle finished, so I set it aside and sort of forgot about it."

"So you didn't tell us because you were just playing a game," Cai said flatly. "Fantastic, Kaelin. You know, until now, I'd had you down as a sensible girl, but I think you've just proven me wrong."

"Cai!" Solana glared at him, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Well?"

Kaelin shrugged. "Maybe it was just a game. It's all a bit irrelevant now, anyway. But like I said, it wasn't hurting anyone, and I sort of got the impression that he didn't really want me to say anything. He trusted me enough to tell me, so I guess I felt that it was the least I could do to oblige him."

"Really," Cai said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "How decent of you."

I gritted my teeth. "Cai? Do us all a favor and just stuff it, would you? We've got enough to deal with without wasting time beating each other up over personal decisions."

Cai bristled. "Really? Well why don't you-"

_"Cai!_" Solana said exasperatedly, grabbing his arm. "Zion's right! Just let it be, please!" She shook her head. "Kaelin, did he ever tell you any thing else? I don't mean to pry, but it's important."

"I'm not a child, Solana. You don't need to remind me." Kaelin shook her head, her eyes dark in the shadows of the bars. "Someone's going to hate me for this," she muttered.

No one said anything. Even Cai had the sense to hold his tongue for once. Next to me, Mariko pulled herself closer to the bars.

At length, Kaelin let out her breath. "All right. Back in Tiberoa, when we went to rescue Mariko from the palace? Remember how Ry said that he would find some way to distract the Moon Child so that she wouldn't be around to stop us?"

"I'm not liable to forget." I rubbed my arms, feeling the chill. Was there a draft in here?

"How could he?"

I frowned, but next to me Mariko had blanched. She started to open her mouth, then snapped it shut, waving her hands in helpless frustration. As the rest of us stared, she pointed at Ry, then to the ceiling above us, then smacked her fists together. When no one showed any sign of understanding, she repeated the gestures again and again.

I could only blink. Something about Ry? A roof? What was she on about? Bewildered, I looked at Amaya. "You have any idea what she's trying to say?"

For once, the ex-Dread Knight looked as baffled as I was. "Mariko?"

"Ry went after Ayrel, didn't he?"

Solana had held tight to Cai's arm as she spoke, but now she let go and came to the nearest corner of the cell, her expression somewhere between wariness and horrible understanding. "That's why it took him so long to return, and why he jumped at Amaya when he saw her, wasn't it? He wasn't really angry at her, he was still mad because Ayrel had gotten away."

"What?" Cai said sharply, as Kaelin nodded, eyes averted. "You _knew_ this?"

Kaelin winced, then glanced through the bars into the cell next to her and seemed to steel herself for the worst. "I ran into Ry just after he was coming in from the stables the night we brought Amaya and Mariko back from the palace." She stopped, making a face. "Okay, so maybe 'ran' isn't quite the right word. 'Deliberately snuck up on', more like it. Anyway, he was sitting in the kitchen in the dark, trying to patch up a cut on his leg. I'm not sure when it was that I had started to suspect he was involved in something like this, but I'd looked through some reports and periodicals in Solana's study, and re-affirmed what I knew about the reports of the two men attacking the Moon Child. Anyway, I confronted him about it and he just sort of… deflated."

"And he admitted it to your face?"

She glanced at Ry again. "Yes."

Cai went silent, but in the poor light I could see him clenching his jaw, his body rigid with anger. When he would finally get his tongue around the words he was looking for, they wouldn't come out as words. It would be an explosion. A small part of me wanted to join him, but for the moment all I could manage was to stare at Kaelin in slack-jawed amazement. Where did the woman get the nerve to do this stuff?

Amaya stared at her, then shook her head slowly. "Kaelin, you…"

"Let me get this straight." Cai interrupted, having finally gotten control over his tongue. He was eyeing Kaelin unpleasantly through the bars, and his low voice rose in a rumbling crescendo as he spoke. "You knew that he was trying to kill Ayrel, but you still didn't bother sharing it with anyone else? Is this supposed to be another game? You could have gotten us killed, if Ayrel hadn't gone and nabbed us first!"

Solana wasn't even trying to shush Cai anymore. We all sat staring, looking back and forth between Cai and Kaelin, caught somewhere between anger and dumbstruck amazement.

Kaelin looked over her arm at him, glaring. "_Killed_?" She said scathingly. "I'm sorry Cai, but spare me the freaking melodrama. Ry's after Ayrel, not us. I don't know if you've noticed, but he's been trying to keep us out of trouble, not land us in it."

"Oh, how could I forget? And I suppose being locked up down here is all part of some grand plan to keep us safe." He rapped a knuckle against the bars. "Well, we aren't going anywhere, that's for certain."

"Don't be an idiot." She snapped. "In case you've forgotten, he wasn't the one who landed us in here."

"No, _you_ were." Cai glared at her.

"Damn straight." She met his eyes levelly, without flinching. "So don't you even try to shift it off on him."

Cai grabbed the bars. "Kaelin, clean out your ears and listen! He's the _Black Monster_! I don't know what Ayrel was on about, calling him Dart Feld, but if he was ever human, you can be sure he isn't now. I don't know what's wrong with him, but after seeing what he did earlier, whatever they plan on doing with him, he probably deserves it!"

"_Deserves?_" Kaelin struggled to her feet, eyes flashing. "That's a great line for you to take! So I suppose he just gets a pat on the head and a wave goodbye for anything he's somehow managed to do for us along the way, huh?"

"It's his fault! If he'd never given us the spirits, we never would have to deal with any of this in the first place! He's the one who started it all!"

"And he's somehow responsible for Solana's spirit? Look, Cai, in case you didn't hear, he saved Zion's life! And if he hadn't distracted Ayrel in Tiberoa, we either have come out of that palace on leashes or in pieces!"

Cai gritted his teeth. "_He_ was the one who sent us in there in the first place!"

"To get Mariko out of there!"

"You still believe that?" Cai snorted. "He just wanted another shot at Ayrel! She's the Moon Child, Kaelin, in case you haven't noticed. She's a brat, I'll give, and we've all got our reasons as far as the temples go, but she's supposed to give us a Utopia!"

"And just how-"

"We're messing with a goddess here! I don't know about you, but I don't want to-"

"**_Cai! Would you shut up!_**"

Kaelin's voice boomed off of the walls of the dungeon, the echo rebounding back again and again. Momentarily taken aback, Cai fell silent. White-knuckled, Kaelin squeezed her fists tightly around the bars, breathing heavily. When she spoke, her teeth were clenched and her words came rapidly, tight with anger.

"Ayrel's supposed to create a Utopia, right? Just stop and think about it for a moment! I know she's supposed to be a goddess, but how's she supposed to do something like that? There's nothing wrong with this world except the people living in it! We all want a perfect world, but even if we managed to get it, it'd be a mess again in the space of ten minutes, because when you shove a bunch of people together, you're guaranteed that someone's going to try to take advantage of someone or screw them over. It's human nature. Heck, it's not even just us! Any species that can string together a couple of words and bonk someone else over the head'll do the same thing. Winglies tried dominate the world. _We_ tried to dominate everything else. Maybe the Gigantos would have tried to do something else, but it's kinda hard to say, seeing as we went and killed the lot of them!" She slumped back, suddenly drained. "Who knows. Maybe she could fix up the world. But in order to do it, she'd have to get rid of the lot of us, whether we deserve it or not." She shook her head. "This world doesn't belong to her, and neither do we. But she… or at least the spirit inside her… would be more than willing to destroy us without bothering to make a distinction between those who deserve it and those who don't." Biting her lip, Kaelin shot one last angry look at Cai and turned away, crouching next to the grille and muttering to herself under her breath.

Cai looked as though he was about to respond, but the words seemed to lose themselves before they made it to his tongue, leaving him looking awkward and unsure of what to do next.

I looked down at Mariko, at a loss for words. Catching my glance, she shrugged helplessly and waved a hand at Ry. I nodded and bit my lip. She had a point (or at least, I _thought_ she had a point: it was difficult to say, sometimes). Kaelin might be right, but the only person we could be sure knew the truth was Ry himself, and it didn't look like he'd be waking up any time soon. And even if he did… well, I was reasonably hopeful that he'd tell the truth, but as for Cai…

At last, he managed to find the words he was looking for. "I suppose he told you this too, right?"

Not looking back, Kaelin bobbed her head once. Ry was shuddering again, and the sound of his fevered groans and snarls floated ghostly and detached around the dungeon.

"Figures." He glared at her again, but the rancor had gone out of his voice. He let go of the bars and backed off, retreating to the far corner of his cell.

Shaking her head, Amaya crouched next to Kaelin, wincing visibly as Ry's tremors redoubled, his whole body heaving with the motion. "He's getting worse," she murmured, reaching a hand through the bars to touch his forehead. Ry jerked; his feet scraping across the stone, and she pulled her hand back sharply. "He's burning up. If he doesn't get help soon…" she sat back on her heels, her pale eyes gleaming in the weak light. "He's not going to make it until morning."

Cai grunted again, his eyes fixed determinedly on the floor between his feet. Solana gave him a despairing look, then turned back towards us. "Is there anything we can do?"

Amaya shook her head, her long braid swaying back and forth. "How? Even if one of us was in there with him, we have nothing. Even a proper healer would have difficulties." She looked up, past me to Mariko. "It's not a natural sickness, is it?" She asked.

Mariko shook her head, then made a few vague gestures.

"So he needs a wingly to help him," Kaelin said, staring into the cell. "Looks like we're back to square one again." Going to the corner of her cell nearest the door, she grabbed the bars and braced herself. "HEY!"

Cai snorted like a bull. Kaelin pointedly ignored him.

I shook my head. Cai was right. Yelling wasn't going to work. At least, not yelling like that.

"Kaelin!"

"What?" She glared at me challengingly. "I swear, if you tell me to-"

"Just stop it, Kaelin. You're never going to get their attention that way." I got to my feet, rubbing my hand over my throat. "Besides, you're going to ruin your voice." I took a deep breath, ignoring her protests, and threw back my head.

"ARRGHH! HELP! GET HIM OFF ME! RABID! HE'S RABID!"

"Zion!" Solana yelped, clapping her hands over her ears as the others did likewise. My voice boomed off of the walls, magnified by the close space. Between hysterical screams, I caught Kaelin looking at me incredulously. Suppressing a grin in spite of myself, I winked at her and gasped another breath before starting again.

"ARRRGHHHH!"

There was a crash as a door was flung open. A moment later a guard, his eyes puffy with sleep, appeared warily at the bottom of the stairwell with his spear held high in one hand, ready. When he realized nothing was wrong, he let it fall with a growl. "Cut with the racket!"

I froze, mouth still open. "Hnn?" I started to take another breath.

He advanced angrily, raking his spear across the grill. "I said shut it! Keep screaming, and you'll get the priests down here!" He stepped in closer, groggily menacing.

My hand flashed out through the bars, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him up against the door. He was a reasonably tall guy, but forced against the bars, he barely came up past my shoulders. I _loomed_, and I wanted him to be very, very aware of the fact. Ducking slightly, I looked him in the eyes, grinning humorlessly. "Really? Wonderful. Why don't you do us a favor and go fetch one of them for us? Or better yet, one of those winglies? We'd like to have a chat with them."

"Wha-hey!" The guard twisted in my grip, suddenly aware that I had trapped his spear with my free hand. Smile still fixed in place, I jammed it through the bars and heaved. There was the groan of strained wood.

"On the other hand, I could always just keep on screaming. It's been a really rotten day, and shouting myself hoarse sounds like a great way to pass the rest of the night." The smile had become more of a grimace. "Though I imagine the priests wouldn't be too happy with you for letting me carry on like that."

"Ahh…" The guard's bloodshot eyes were starting to look a bit wild. "Look-"

I jerked a bit harder on the spear, and this time the _'crack'_ of the wood beginning to split was clearly audible. "Go find one of the winglies, got it? But not Ayrel." I let go of his shoulder, but kept a tight hold of the spear. "Definitely not Ayrel."

He stumbled back a step or two, rattled. Knowing it was a bit overdone, but not really wanting to give him time to think, I pulled the haft of the spear from his hand, wrenching it toward me with a crackle of splintering wood. Still keeping my eyes locked on him, I growled, "The winglies, mister. Go get them. Now."

As the guard's hurried footfalls faded up the stairs, I let go of the broken spear haft and massaged my arm. "Jeez, someone remind me not to try that again. Those things are _not_ easy to pull apart like that."

"You're telling me," Kaelin said faintly. "Do you think it worked?"

"We'll have to see." Solana craned her neck, trying to peer up the stairs. "Though I hope he doesn't decide to bring Ayrel back instead. I hope you didn't shake him too badly, Zion. Otherwise he might do it just to get back at you."

As it turned out, the guard didn't come back. When the sound of footsteps finally came back, it was Mathis who stepped into view, polished and cold.

He lifted the lamp he carried slightly, letting its bright glow wash over the chilly floor. I'd seen him earlier with Asalla in the upper levels of the temple, but down here, surrounded by the drab walls of the prison, I had my first really good look at him. Unlike the guard, he was short. There was no denying that. But he held himself in such a way that even if he was staring up at your face he could still give the impression that he was somehow looking down on you. He wore his silver hair short and brushed back in what I supposed must have been some current style. Judging by the crushed velvet coat and silken scarf pinned around his neck, he was very conscious of that sort of thing. He'd probably, I thought sourly to myself, checked his reflection in the mirror before coming down to see us.

He raised one eyebrow at the splintered spear lying on the stones. "Been playing, have we? What do you want?"

"Help," Solana said flatly. She pointed at Ry, who was still stretched out prone and shaking on the wet floor of his cell. "Look at him. He won't make it until dawn unless one of you does something."

Mathis gave her a long look, then went to the front of Ry's cell. He gazed into it for a moment. His face was studiously smooth, but the false concern in his voice was so thick it mocked. "Mmm. He doesn't look too well, does he?"

"What did you do to him?" Kaelin, crouched next to the bars once more, gave him a dirty look.

"Do?" A muscle in his cheek twitched, and this time there was no mistaking the laughter in his deep red eyes. "Very little, actually. That staff I struck him with was enchanted. Long ago, the ancient winglies used its like to seal the Divine Dragon into its lair. Out of control like he was earlier, it was the only way to stop him. The magic stopped the dragon from killing my daughter. Knocking him in the head-" he indicated Ry- "was just to make sure the idiot wouldn't get back up. It's amazing what Ragnarok will put him through, just to keep him on his feet and fighting. But if you mean what's with the sickness…" he shrugged. "It has nothing to do with me. I assume that it's the backlash of whatever Ragnarok put through him earlier. You humans aren't made to handle that sort of raw power, though I doubt the dragon gave it a second thought." He buffed his fingernails on the lapel of his jacket. "Though I have to say, he's holding up better than I might have thought. He must be less human than I've given him credit for."

Ragnarok. That stirred something in my recent memory. Hadn't Asalla mentioned the name earlier? I shook my head, and then asked "Who?"

Mathis pulled his eyes away from Ry long enough to look at me. "Ragnarok is the name of the Divine Dragon. That…display earlier was his doing."

"His doing?" Cai stood behind Solana, one hand on her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

Mathis laughed, a quick snicker that sounded strange coming out of his mouth. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed? One minute he's fine, the next minute, he's ready to bite off your head? It's the dragon that does that to him. They share that body the same way that you'd share a wagon. Either one can drive, but Ragnarok is distinctly less pleasant."

Cai's voice was flat. "You don't say."

There was a rasping cough. On the floor, Ry's body suddenly heaved, his breath coming in short, rattling gasps. Something dark dribbled from the corner of his mouth and spattered on the floor, disappearing on the wet stone.

Kaelin bit her lip, glaring at Mathis. "Help him. Please."

"Why?" He leaned against the bars, ignoring the sounds coming from inside. "We're only going to kill him, my dear. It would be a waste."

"If you do not help him now, you'll never get the _chance_ to kill him." Amaya reached out and steadied Kaelin, who had flushed with anger at being called 'my dear'. "Your daughter wouldn't be too pleased with you for letting him die of sickness down here."

"It's thanks to me," Mathis said, "that she hasn't come down here and taken care of him already. You should be thankful."

"Thankful." I looked the wingly up and down, recognizing the way he held himself, the way his eyes were laughing. You'd see guys like him in the bars, sometimes. They were the ones who stayed clear until the fighting was done, then came out and kicked you in the ribs when they knew you were too beat to kick back. I gritted my teeth. "Yeah, right. You're making him suffer on purpose, you- mmmph!"

Mariko slapped her hands over my mouth, muffling the last word. Mathis watched in amusement. "Careful, young man. The lady, at least, knows her place."

"You're giving him a public execution, aren't you." Said Solana, as Mariko carefully removed her hands from my mouth. "That's why you won't let her kill him."

"It's not really a matter of 'let'. I had to speak rather fast in order to get her to wait. She can be a terribly stubborn child, and she was very, very angry. But, yes, I have convinced her to wait, on the condition that she be the one to do the job in the end. It was the only way she would agree, unfortunately." He sighed. "I tried to tell her that the proper thing to do would be to sit in the stands and watch while a professional headsman handles the job, but she has something of a barbarous streak in her nature. She's the Moon Child, and yet I sometimes think that she'd rather lose an arm than have someone else do her work for her. It's terribly upsetting."

_'That makes her better than you'_, I thought grimly to myself, but after a sharp look from Mariko I kept my mouth tightly shut.

Ry's breathing staggered, and then the ragged cough began again. Amaya, who had been helping Kaelin try to keep him still through the bars, looked up at Mathis bluntly. "It won't be much of an execution, then. He doesn't have long left."

Mathis looked at her, impassive. Then, as though it took a gargantuan effort, he shrugged. "If I must. I'm afraid there's not much I can do for him, though. I've never been anything spectacular with healing work." He took a step back from the bars, murmuring to himself and tracing his fingers quickly through the air in front of his chest. As he finished there was a faint whisper, and the air around Ry seemed to blur with a green haze. And then it was gone and he lay still, his breathing still haggard but steady.

Amaya touched his forehead. "His fever's down."

Mathis wiped his forehead and looked at the back of his hand in distaste. "I hope that will stop your complaining, though I still see little point in it. Goodnight, all of you, for what its worth. Do try to get some sleep. You aren't invited to the execution, mind, but there'll be… other matters we'll need to deal with later on." He set his lamp down by the door and dimmed it. "Adieu."

As the door slammed shut at the top of the stairs, Kaelin ground her teeth. "He was playing with us! He was freaking _playing_!That was sick!"

"Playing's right," I grumbled. "He probably can't do much else. Did you notice? Just using a spell like that made him break out in a sweat. Even with his magic, he probably wouldn't be a match for any of us, let alone Ry. Talk about kicking someone when they're down."

Leaving Mariko, I slumped against the back wall of the cell. The day's exhaustion was catching up with me. While the others continued to talk I stared at my feet, their voices a distant murmur as I tried to collect my thoughts.

So if we were to believe what the winglies were telling us, Ry was really Dart Feld, who was in actuality the Black Monster… except he wasn't always, because the Black Monster was way too old. And he _had_ been a dragoon, or rather still was, but he was linked with a spirit that history had never heard of, or, if it had, no one had ever bothered writing it down for some reason, which was stupid… and the dragon in the spirit had a name, and he was as much Ry as this Dart guy was… no, that wasn't right, he was…

My head slumped forward and I closed my eyes, still fighting with a hoard of explanations and no single, coherent answer.

I must've slept, but I could never remember dreaming. Completely drained, I woke up feeling stiff and sore, with a head packed full of sand. And with Mariko's shoe digging insistently into my ribs.

"Ehh… 'nuff! I'm 'wake!" I waved her away and pushed myself up, yawning hugely. "Wha…" I blinked, aware of everyone's eyes on me. Then I came fully awake, remembering what was happening. "Where's Ry?"

"Gone." Kaelin sat with her hands twisted into her bangs, face ashen. "They took him away half an hour ago."

"What?" I sat bolt upright. "Why didn't anyone wake me?"

"We tried," said Cai. "You were out like a light."

"Oh, that's just…" My voice trailed off at the sound of a muffled shout from the top of the stairwell, followed by a crash and the rattle of steel and silence. And then…

"Jeez, you couldn't have been any louder, could you?"

"Hey, you try hitting someone in full armor and see what happens! I'll pay you any money if he doesn't ring like a bell. Besides, you got that muffling spell set up in time, right? No one outsida here heard us. We're safe."

"Urgh, you're such an idiot…"

The voices echoed down the stairwell. We exchanged glances as someone started down the stairs. The voices weren't familiar, but anyone who would go around knocking out temple guards couldn't be all _that_ bad.

"Takes one." The first speaker swung around the wall of the stairwell, shaking the lamp slightly as he landed. "Hello, folks!"

I blinked. _'A wingly?'_

"Six of 'em. They're all here." He looked back over his shoulder. "Except him, obviously."

"Of course. Still, that's a relief." His partner, another wingly, appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "I was afraid she would have split them up. It would have been the smart thing to do."

"Hey, I'm not complaining." The male scratched the back of his neck and turned back to us again. He was definitely a wingly, with crimson eyes and neck-length silver hair, but unlike Mathis and Asalla, who were so pale they almost seemed colorless, his skin was tanned and beaten from exposure. He wore a heavy green cloak, but I could see the weight of his shoulders beneath the fabric, and he moved lightly when he walked, balanced on his toes like a cat. Not the sort of guy who'd kick you when you're down. He'd be the guy who _put_ you there.

"That's a first." The second wingly, a woman, pushed past him. She wasn't as tall or as tanned, but she'd obviously spent some time outdoors. Her hair had been caught and pinned back in a knot at the top of her neck, and she fiddled with it as she looked around, dropping her hands to straighten the heavy brown shawl she wore. "Well, we don't have much time, I'm afraid. Asalla shouldn't be able to feel us from here, but if we're not quick, Dart's going to be in for it." She looked at us directly, her eyes flicking from one face to another. "We can get you out," she said bluntly, "and if you give us five minutes, you'll have your spirits to boot. But we need you to help us out."

Wordlessly, Kaelin got to her feet, followed immediately by Mariko. The rest of us followed suit. Only Cai remained sitting, his eyes suspicious from the back of his cell. "Who are you?"

"Who are we?" The woman reached out and touched the lock to his cell lightly with her fingertips. There was a crackling sound like a static shock, and then it popped open. "We," she repeated, removing the lock and opening the door, "would be the cavalry."

**Asalla's POV:**

The misty, snow-clogged streets of Deningrad were awash with people, all streaming in one direction. Mathis had made the announcement only a few hours ago, but somehow the word had gotten around, from mouth to ear of the shopkeepers to the womenfolk, from gossiping wives to husbands, to be overheard by the children…

I drew back from the window, letting the curtain fall. Ayrel had, after much persuasion on Mathis' part, agreed to his idea of a public execution, but I couldn't help but feel uneasy about it. Let what had to be done be done, with no ceremony, out of sight and quickly. Extra time just allowed for complications. And we had been running too long to have to start again if things somehow went amuck.

Even so… I leaned back against the wall. The excitement of the people crowding along outside was almost tangible, even more so for one such as myself with gifts of empathy. Their curiosity and energy bored into my brain, and it was only with an effort I managed to keep it separate from my own anxiety. He shouldn't have let it slip to the public. If there was to be an audience, let it be the courtiers and the priests, the ones with the power and to whom it would really matter. But Mathis had insisted that the people had ought to see, to bolster their support for Ayrel. He might have believed this, but I knew better. The people were curious, nothing more. It was something to do on a dreary, misty morning after a messy snowfall. To them, the Black Monster was a creature out of stories, a terrifying beast. Not some beaten up, half-dead man with blank eyes and bad hair. We could slap all the names on him we wanted, but in the end, he'd just be another common criminal to them.

I rubbed my eyes, feeling the sleep between my fingers. It had been a restless night. Even knowing that he was down, it had been difficult to get any rest with Dart in the same building as us. The feeling of him and his accursed dragon saturated the air like a poison, and I had spent most of the night wandering the halls, unable to keep still.

Ayrel had done little better. I had healed her wounds, and it hadn't taken her long to recover her strength, but even so she had kept to herself for the remainder of the night, pointedly ignoring Mathis whenever he came near. She saw some sense in his arguments somewhere, but it was clear she wasn't happy about them. Now she was out in the plaza before the Royal Palace, waiting. There was little else to do now, except worry.

Someone knocked on the door. As I turned around Mathis slipped in, whistling happily to himself. He had done without sleep entirely, though to look at him it was difficult to tell. His eyes glittered as he shook out his coat, and I could feel the anticipation emanating from him like a wave. "Well? How are you feeling, love?"

I inclined my head slightly. "No better. I will be glad when this is over, Mathis."

He laughed. "You're still worrying? Settle down! They're bringing him out to the plaza now. We've lashed whatever was left of the staff to his back, so there's no chance of Ragnarok recovering in time, and Dart is such a mess he can't even stand, let alone cause trouble." He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and nuzzled my cheek. "The problem with you, my dear, is that you need to learn to relax."

"I'll relax when it's over. How long do we have?"

Mathis let his arm fall. "Actually, I was just coming to fetch you. It'll be starting shortly. You had better get down there now, if you don't want to miss it."

It was surprisingly mild outdoors. A warm wind was sweeping across the plains, melting last night's snow and filling the air with chilly, damp vapor. The sky overhead was overcast, but even through the veil of mist and wood smoke it didn't look as though they had anything left to spill onto us. I pulled my cloak tighter around me as I shut the door behind me and stepped out onto one of the palace's many balconies, this one overlooking the plaza a short distance below.

A stout wooden platform had been erected at the far end of the square; as I watched, a wagon forced its way through the press of the crowd and drew level beside it. Mathis appeared quite suddenly and took charge, ordering the guards back and forth in a sharp voice that carried even over the din of the crowd. Carefully, Dart was lifted from the wagon bed and passed to the men on the platform. The buzz of the crowd grew even louder as he was dragged forward and made to kneel at the front of the stage, though he had to be supported on either side by a guard. His head lolled back and forth limply on his neck, and he swayed on his knees, even in the hands of the guards. Whatever Mathis claimed to have done for him during the night, it was clear that it had been very little. The only mercy for him would be that he probably would never even know when Ayrel's blade fell.

"Mother?"

I didn't turn around. "Shouldn't you be down there with your father?"

Ayrel came to stand next to me, resting her elbows on the marble banister. She had changed her clothes, and her hair was pinned back once more, but despite Mathis' urgings, both clip and clothing were simple and unadorned as always. Gravely, I nodded. She, at least, knew that this shouldn't be the show her father was making it out to be.

She fiddled with the hilt of the dragon buster, twisting it on her belt. "I'll go down in a minute. I still don't like this, Mother. I wanted him to know I'd won, to beat him on my own."

"I know, dear." Mathis had begun to read the charges now, shouting to be heard over the racket. I shook my head. "Sometimes, though, you just have to take things as they come. At least now, we can finish it for good."

"I suppose," she sighed, but I could tell from the look on her face that she felt no better. "I wish I had been more alert last night. Otherwise, father never would have been able to talk me into this."

'_I wish so too_,' I thought silently, but said nothing.

As Mathis reached the end of his speech, Ayrel shook her head and stepped back from the railing. "Well, I guess that's it. If I let this go much longer, he'll look like a fool up there by himself." She started to gather herself for the warp down to the platform, then stopped as a commotion broke out at the edge of the crowd near the stage. "What…"

Against the weight of Dart and Ragnarok's combined presence it was an almost undetectable shift, but the sudden touch of a third aura hit me like a blow. Crying out, I whirled around in time to see Garren appear in mid-air behind Ayrel, his body already twisting as he snapped his leg around toward Ayrel's head.

The kick made contact. Ayrel lurched sideways, eyes rolling back into her head as she slumped. I caught her before she could fall completely and dragged her back a few steps as Garren landed in a crouch on the railing, one hand planted with the other held out behind him for balance. Gathering my daughter close, I kept my eyes on him as I drew in my energy, preparing to fight.

He must've sensed this, because he suddenly lowered his arm and relaxed his weight, letting his muscles slacken. "It's okay, Asalla. We're not here for a fight. Just let us get what we want, and we'll be out of here in no time at all."

I didn't relax. "You're here for Dart?"

"Yup." Garren nodded, rubbing his hand on the balustrade. "Like I said, just let us be, and we'll be gone in a moment. No harm done, right?"

"No harm." I tightened my grip on Ayrel, slouched around my feet. "Don't lie to me, Garren. He'll be back. _You'll_ be back. Either he dies, or she dies. Until then, it won't end."

Garren stared at me, and then shook his head slowly. "I knew you'd say that. None of us like what he has to do, least of all him. But it has to be done."

"Does it really?"

Garren sighed, lifting his hand away from the stone. As he did so, I saw the black, smoking rune that had appeared in the rail beneath it. "I'm sorry, Asalla. I really am. Just do me a favor and get yourself out of here. It won't be a good idea to hang around in a moment." He licked his thumb and snapped his fingers, a spark of flame appearing on the on the end of his thumb. Then, before I could react, he swiped the flame across the mark. "Catch you later." Flashing me an apologetic grin he leapt backwards into empty space, flickering once and then disappearing as he warped away.

The rune ignited. With a deafening roar the balcony exploded, flame and chips of stone bursting into the air. Almost too late, I threw up a shield to surround the two of us, feeling the inferno beat furiously against the invisible walls of the shell. _Garren _had managed this? I gathered Ayrel into my arms, her head lolling against my breasts. No. Garren couldn't manage something like this, not if he had worked at it for twenty years. Someone else must have prepared it for him, so that all he had to do was set and trigger it. But that meant…

I clutched Ayrel's unconscious body to me, aware for the first time of the fourth presence that was spreading through my mind. Wordlessly, I turned to look through the wall of flame, though I could see nothing through the fire.

Nova.

Now she was fighting as well?

**Amaya's POV:**

I shoved my way clear of the panicking crowd, grabbing a hold of the scaffolding and swinging myself up and over the edge of the platform as sparks and pulverized marble showered down, filling the air with white dust. Doing my best to ignore the flames gouting from the balcony almost overhead, I rolled to my feet, pulling a short, heavy stick from the back of my belt.

The winglies had gotten us out of the prison, but there hadn't been much time for talk. The most I had been able to glean from Garren's rushed explanation was that both he and Nova were old friends of 'Dart', and that they'd really, really rather not see his head tacked up on Ayrel's wall. Anything beyond that, I got the impression, would have to wait until they'd gotten us all out of the city, another thing they promised to do for us. Cai had caused his usual problems, but not for long; somehow, Nova had managed to locate the dragoon spirits somewhere in the temple, and had retrieved them for us while he and Garren spoke. Their return quite firmly ended the argument. Whatever Cai might have said in the past against being a dragoon, he snatched back his stone as quickly as any of us. After all that had happened, we'd been left with a particular sense of vulnerability, and the spirits helped to reverse that, at least a little.

Down in the crowd, most of the guardsmen were still gawking at the explosion. Almost no one seemed to be paying any attention to what was happening on the stage. Which was just as well, because the guardsmen who _were_ on the stage were starting to look a bit panicky as the Zion and Cai appeared over the far edge, their expressions decidedly businesslike. Mathis, unfortunately, was nowhere to be seen; I wasn't positive, but I was fairly certain that he'd fled the moment he'd spotted Garren on the balcony. Gritting my teeth, I lunged forward and sprinted for the nearest guard, swinging the cudgel wide.

It connected with a _crack_. As he tumbled backwards from the platform, the second guard whirled around, sword whistling from its sheath. I ducked; as I did so, there was another thud, and the guard lurched past me into the crowd with a strangled yell.

Abruptly, the noise level dropped. I straightened slowly, bumping into Zion who stood over me rubbing his elbow and muttering. Nova hovered in the center of the platform, her expression focused as she finished the spell she'd been weaving, scattering the trails she'd been tracing with her fingers with a peculiar little flick. The silence became absolute; the platform was suddenly lit with an azure light as a shimmering wall leapt up around us, effectively sealing us off from anyone who might try to reach us.

"Neat trick," Zion said faintly.

Nova let her hands fall with a gasp. "Hurry, Garren. I can't hold this up for very long!"

At some point during the scramble, the others had made it onto the platform. Now Garren hurried over to where Ry lay slumped on the boards, pulling him up into a semi-sitting position. "Jeez…" He tugged at the broken remains of the staff that had been lashed to Ry's wrists behind his back. "Lookit this. They weren't taking any chances here, where they?" Working the knots, he pulled the staff free and set it aside, pressing his palm down on it hard. There was a brief flare of green light; when he lifted his hand, it had disappeared. "That oughta do it."

"Garren!"

"Give me a minute! He's in real bad shape here!"

"So heal him!"

"I'm trying!" He snapped back. "It's not exactly a piece of cake, you know!"

"Oh for the love of…" Nova shoved Garren aside and grabbed Ry's head in her hands, her face screwing up with effort. There was a brief stuttering light as the spell flared between her hands; Ry shivered and arched his back, jerking his head out of her hands. Then he fell forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Garren grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

"Careful, man. You don't look half a mess, do you? Whoa! Jeez…"

Ry jerked away from Garren, staggering slightly. Nova's healing had sealed his wounds completely, but the angry red scars were still fresh and visible through the tears in his ruined clothing. Still, when he lifted his head to look around, his eyes were sharp and clear.

His gaze wandered over the crowd, the guardsmen forcing themselves against Nova's barrier. Then he shuddered, like a man coming out of a dream. "Nova," he rasped. "Get them out of here."

Nova froze, staring at him. Then carefully, she said, "Ark?"

"Who else would it be?" Ry glanced over at her, then jerked his head toward us. "That lot. Drop the barrier and get them out of here. If you can get them as far as the ruins of the Forest of the Winglies, there's enough residual magic there that we should be able to mask ourselves. You've seen it on the maps before, right?"

"But what about…"

He looked back over his shoulder at Garren. "What do you think? We must be able to buy a _little_ bit of time, here."

Garren looked a bit surprised, but grinned and knocked his fists together anyway. "A distraction, you mean? If you think _you_ can handle it."

She glanced over at Garren, then back to him. "Are you sure? Ark, you were just…"

"Don't worry about it. Just using the spirit won't hurt him, as long as I don't overdo it. He's still out of it at the moment, but he should be coming around again before too long. We'll catch up with you in a bit." Ry started to turn away, then looked over at us, hesitating.

"Keep them safe, Nova. We've got a lot of explaining to do, I think."

"You got that right," grumbled Cai under his breath. Ry grinned.

Nova swallowed and nodded her head. "I…" then she shook her head. "Garren!" She said sharply. "Help me out! I don't have the strength to warp everyone that far on my own." The other wingly came over and grabbed her hand, focusing. Nova took a deep breath. "Don't waste any time once I get out of here! The barrier will disappear the moment we're gone, so be ready for it!"

Garren opened one eye long enough to wink at her. "Don't worry, Nova. You're gonna give yourself wrinkles. Now hurry up and go!" He pulled his and out of her grip and staggered back.

"Be careful!"

"GO!" Roared Ry, turning to face the wall. Garren took a step away, spreading both hands wide, fingers wreathed with fire. As Nova began her spell, the two of them stood back to back, watching as the barrier surrounding the platform buckled and disappeared, Garren's face set, Ry's almost anticipant. A hum was building in my ears; abruptly the world seemed to flicker. Just before it disappeared entirely, Ry slumped forward, a brilliant, pulsating light bursting forth from his body, swallowing him up…

The world blinked.

**Garren's POV:**

"Sure is enough of them, isn't there?" I muttered out of the corner of my mouth, taking a step farther back.

Somewhere up above me, Ragnarok laughed hoarsly. _'The bugger,'_ I thought to myself. _'You're enjoying this, aren't you?'_

"Having second thoughts? We told Nova we'd buy some time." He lifted the muzzle of the divine cannon, aiming high over the heads of the stunned guardsmen and dread knights warily encircling the groaning platform. Straight, I couldn't help but notice, at one of the gleaming spires of the palace overhead. The cannon whined, gathering energy.

He sighted along the barrel, grinning. "Come on, Garren. Time to pay up."

* * *

Solana: … where's Shade? 

Garren: Huh? Oh. Last I saw, she was on her way west.

Solana: She's going on a trip? I thought she hated flying.

Garren: Well, er… it's not exactly voluntary. Ark wasn't too pleased with the ending of the last chapter, so when he woke up, well…

Solana: o.o;

Garren: On the upside, he's gotta have made it into Guinness. I don't think anyone's ever kicked an authoress clear across three provincial boundaries in one shot before.

Solana: … you don't say….

Heh, fun times. Well, apparently Ark was a bit more coherent throughout the events of the chapter than everyone was lead to think. Dun dun dun. Any significance? Who knows? I was darn convenient, though. XD


End file.
